Hermione Granger VS Hermione Mary Sue Granger
by Divine-Feline
Summary: A parody of that which was never sacred. Hermione’s attractive American Cousin is coming to Hogwarts! It only gets worse from there. The story is almost as good as the title is bad.
1. Chapter 1

"I have something floating around in my head. Something horrible. I'm going to try to type it out now, I hope it does some good." Those were the words of the author before she started. She did type it out, and it turned from a quick parody into something a bit bigger. It could end here, or it could go on. It hasn't decided yet.

I'm sure you've seen them. Those stories where Hermione is suddenly someone completely different, usually having embraced the debauchery of a badly-written Mary Sue (if it's well written does it still count as a Mary sue?). Usually an American Cousin gets involved somewhere. I'm sure you've seen them, I don't think you would have clicked the link here if you hadn't. This is a bit of what I think Hermione would be like if placed in this situation. Of course, I could be terribly wrong. If anyone who's written one of these things is reading this then I hope you're not terribly insulted. I can only suggest that you try laughing at it, it may help. As a disclaimer: I don't own Hermione, or any of the other characters or places. I'm not even sure I own the cousin, though I'm a lot less distressed by that fact.

And now, **On with the show.**

* * *

Hermione Granger looked like a prostitute. And not the expensive kind either.

She hobbled through the barrier of 9 and ¾'s and towards her friend on five inch heels. She made it there just in time to collapse into the arms of the saviour of the wizarding world.

Harry Potter spent several confused seconds trying to identify the girl in his arms before she turned her face to him.

"Harry" she said "it's awful! The worst thing has happened."

"Umm" said Harry eloquently to the eerily familiar girl.

She righted herself so that she could stand to face him, only lightly leaning her palm on his shoulder for support.

"Harry, you've got to listen to me. My cousin, my American cousin, she's come. She – she's done things to me. Horrible Things! Look at me!" the girl gestured to her more than unfortunate outfit, specifically the writing on the far too small top. "I've never even wanted to be a Porn-Star!" She exclaimed breathing in a way that only caused the writing to become more accentuated.

"Hermione?" came from a very shocked redhead who had been attempting to ignore the not so uncommon anymore occurrence of a strangely underdressed woman flinging herself in the direction of his best friend.

"Ron! Please, you've got to help me."

"I- you- you- dressed- I-" At this point the apparently unconnected words faded off into gurgling.

"Yes! I said! She dressed me!"

"Dressed you?" said Harry who's mind was still coming to grips with the fact that this was indeed Hermione and she was indeed wearing a shirt that had Porn-Star written on it. He hadn't yet dared to look any lower.

"Yes! Well, no. I'm actually wearing my usual clothes but she's transfigured them and I don't know the spell to change them back!" Her voice raised perilously close to the tone that Harry recognized came just before the times he had seen her cry.

Ron took this moment to gasp in some much needed oxygen as he hadn't actually inhaled since he had discovered who this scantily clad female was. This was an incongruous sound to his previous gurgling and Hermione quickly assumed that it had been made because she'd admitted to not knowing something.

She took a second to glare at him, an act which lost much of its effectiveness because of what being out of breath was doing to the words Porn-Star across her chest. Which was what the young man was focusing on at the moment.

"Well I've never really spent time looking for spells to turn myself into a tart have I? So I really wouldn't know the counter spells, would I?"

She turned back to Harry, almost losing her balance again. "We were in the lavatory, just us, and she assaulted me and turned me into, into this! And then she ran out on me!"

The look on her face changed from panic to something would have made her look scary even without make-up that would have only seemed 'just the right amount' to someone with very, very bad eyelid acne. "I hear they don't have repercussions for underage magic in America. I hope she's having a nasty surprise." She said this in a tone that had only ever been heard previously in reference to Rita Skeeter and in the subconscious sounded more like "I hope she gets her wand broken and is deported back to America. In the baggage compartment. Without oxygen."

It was at this moment that the red-headed younger sibling of the red-headed friend of the saviour of the wizarding world approached, attracted by the loud noises coming from the center of what was now a large circle formed around three people. The onlookers were the sort who wanted to watch the action but didn't want to get too close in-case something explosive happened.

Ginny Weasley used what were referred to lovingly around the burrow as 'the elbows of doom' (and, of course, her legs and feet) to make her way to the inner circle.

She recognized her brother and Harry and, after a few moments and the kind of shock that would cause deep-seated problems later in life, Hermione.

She made her way to the trio, a dazed look on her face and poked Hermione in her barely covered, Daisy Duke shorted hips.

Just to make sure she was real.

Hermione was very solid, and, as Ginny was too, noticed this invasion of personal space.

The older girl turned to the younger and, in a very unusual way of greeting someone one hasn't seen all summer said "Can you change me back?"

The red-head thought about this for a moment before replying "I can do the clothes"

"Well please do! Before anyone else sees me like this." Said Hermione who actually hadn't noticed the growing ring of onlookers and was starting to calm down, if just slightly.

Ginny wasn't perfectly sure if the 'no-magic-for-summer' law ended once one was on the platform or if one actually had to get on the train for school before one could cast, but decided from the look that Hermione had given her for just this thought's pause that she would rather risk the wrath of the Ministry than of her friend.

Ginny, without much ado, performed the spell and the still straight haired and horribly face-painted Hermione hugged her arms around her now much more adequately covered body before hugging Ginny and then herself again.

"Thank you" She chanted "I will never again dismiss learning a spell, no matter how inconsequential it may seem."

Several people in the crowd wondered if the girl had gone mad, and accepted that, for who she was, and what had just happened to her, she well may have.

It never dawned on Ron that while Hermione 'Had never gone looking for spells to turn herself into a tart and so wouldn't know the counter-spells' his sister apparently had.

He did however notice that Hermione still had the makeup of a leper trying to disguise something and that she still smelt like she had been dropped in a vat of scent that was to the smell of real strawberries what marshmallow-banana's are to the taste of real ones.

He also noticed that her hair was straight and far more blonde than it had been last time he'd seen her.

"Your face is still… Glehh" he said, using both sound and body language to get his message across.

Hermione could feel the make-up caked on her skin as well as the pressure on the roots of her hair that was keeping it straight.

She scraped her nails lightly against her face but they were impeded from reaching skin and came away without any foundation to show for her efforts.

"It won't wash off, I tried in the loo" she said, still distressed but much happier now that she was properly clothed.

"I bet Lavender could get it off" Ginny piped up helpfully.

"I bet I could, lemme try" said a voice and Hermione looked around, for the first time noticing the ring of onlookers of a more than five person radius. She recognized more people than was good for her, many of whom were not on good terms with her, and more than a few of whom were adults. The heat of embarrassment was radiating from her face and she found herself more than a little pleased at the fact that the makeup denied the onlookers a view of her real blush.

"Err" She said "Lets find a train car and do it in there"

Along with several soft giggles from a second year who had grossly and purposefully misinterpreted her statement, the ring dispersed and they headed for the train.

Hermione tried to ignore the not so quiet gossiping that had broken out as they passed.

---xx0oo0lOvOl0oo0xx---

The window on this car was thankfully not stuck closed and so was opened to allow the scent that wanted to be a strawberry but had failed horribly to escape. Hermione was just glad that it was no longer coming from her.

Lavender had managed to remove the make-up and the smell but only after extorting the promise that the once again characteristically haired Hermione would someday let Lavender do her up. This was agreed upon readily enough for, while not the same as Hermione's, Lavender's fashion sense was much better than that of The American Cousin's.

"So" said Harry "This American Cousin of yours, where is she?"

The questioned girl turned to him, a hunted look in her eyes. "Oh, she's here. I know it. She's on this train, coming to Hogwarts. She's calling herself a 'Transfer'. Ha! A transfer is an exchange! I know this! No-one, no-one in Hogwarts has gone over there, because if she was a transfer then she would have stayed with them wouldn't she? But she's stayed with me! With my family…" She trailed off.

"My family…" she said again slowly "She's… my cousin"

Everyone in the car suddenly felt awkward and not quite in the 'Hermione's finally flipped. Well, we always kinda expected it would happen. She worked herself far too hard I'll tell you.' way.

Trevor was ill.

The moment passed with a simple "scourgify" from Hermione. Neville beamed at her. In a metaphorical way.

"No, she's coming" said Hermione, even though no one had said she wasn't "She's just waiting to make an entrance."

The train seemed to slow down, just a little.


	2. Sue Steals the Show

I apologise for taking such a long time to update. This has been the chapter of bad luck for every time I've tried to work on it something has happened. It is done now though and I'm pretty happy with it. If anyone wants to see me struggle with the writing process then they may follow the homepage link in my profile to my fic journal where one of the scrapped versions of this chapter rests. I hope you enjoy this.

* * *

Some people are gifted with the ability to make others notice them. A few of these people are born with the ability, they walk into a room and their presence, the unseen energies surrounding them attract the gazes of all. Most people with this ability achieve it through some great action or circumstance that brings them renown. Their fame makes them noticeable. The rest of the people who have this ability… they're usually faking it somehow.

Marietta Nightingale Dawnrose Fairchild Tinúviel Sicamna Ladilla Suelené was good at faking things. She was so good that sometimes she herself forgot what was fake. She couldn't always tell the difference between what was real and what was imaginary, but she supposed it didn't really matter all that much because she was just so spectacular.

Besides, she could always tell when someone was lying to her and that's what's really important, right?

Marietta Nightingale Dawnrose Fairchild Tinúviel Sicamna Ladilla Suelené was, to put it quite simply, awesome.

Everyone loved Marietta because they had to. I mean, who wouldn't love a brilliant, good-looking, sweet natured but fiery and sassy, fashionable, compassionate, strong-minded, independent, graceful, charming, generous, innocent but not naïve, confident, funny, unique, creative, powerful, adventurous, child-actress with a great singing voice?

But, like all normal people, Marietta had secrets. What would people say if they knew that she could talk to animals? Well, they likely wouldn't be too surprised. But, if they knew that the animals talked to her, if they knew that she could understand the woodland creatures then they might have been a bit freaked out. Those around her may not have appreciated her ability to read minds and her powers of telekinesis. They may have ostracized her because of her control over the elements. They may have even sent her to jail if they'd known that she was an unregistered animagus. Yes, it was hard being Marietta Suelené.

Marietta's prized possessions were simple things. Simply the jewelry that her mother had left her. There were four items: a golden ring set with a ruby red as blood, a silver chain with an emerald pendant as green as the first leaves of spring, a bracelet of bronze inset with lapis lazuli as blue as the summer sky, and a pair of golden earrings with dangling onyx as black as a really gothic person's soul.

The items looked stunning on her but the real reason she treasured them so was because they were the only things left that had belonged to her mother who had died in a tragic lawn-bowling accident when Marietta was five. Her father had tried to support his daughter but his tragic gambling addiction came to a head with the tragic death of his wife and in an amazing display of irresponsibility he'd tragically gambled the family's finances away. It was all very tragic.

Of course, no-one looking at her would have known this. Marietta looked like she had a perfectly wonderful life.

Think of the sexiest person you can. Marietta Suelené is much, much sexier.

She was so pretty that she had to wear makeup to tone down her features.

She'd had to transfer out of Lady Helen's academy for young witches and wizards because she was so beautiful that the other girls at the school had repeatedly attempted to assassinate her. Jealousy was such an uncouth emotion.

So here she was, transferring into Hogwarts. She'd heard quite a bit about this school, after all, it had been her mother's alma mater. She was determined to become known and loved by every single being in that school, and Marietta Suelené always got what she wanted.

---xx0oo0lOvOl0oo0xx---

Harry was the first to see her.

He'd looked out the window, because that's just what you do on long train journeys, and couldn't believe his eyes.

The sight was breathtaking. It was beautiful; it was unheard of.

It was a girl riding a dragon. And not being eaten.

The magnificent creature's massive wings beat the air but, incredibly enough, the movement made no sound.

Soon the other passengers in the compartment noticed the focus of Harry's attention. Their eyes were drawn to the scene and, while some of them had a niggling doubt that this was true, they all thought that it was the most astonishing thing they'd ever seen.

The dragon looked like no species he'd ever heard of, but that wasn't the true focus of Harry's attention. Harry couldn't take his eyes off of the dragon-rider.

She was sublime, an aesthetic masterpiece.

Her golden-blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her back like a waterfall of sunlight.

Her ivory skin shone in the sun as did her beautiful clothes which made her perfect curves even more pronounced.

She wore a pink silk pleated Tuleh camisole with shimmery pink snake print Cavalli Jeans. Her delicate feet were encased in pink Louis Vuitton Air Force One sneakers and her glorious locks were held back by a black Chanel headband with white polka-dots.

On one wrist she wore her bronze bracelet, and on the other she wore an eighteen-karat gold plated series 1500 gold bangle Gucci watch. Her golden earrings shone, as did her delicate emerald pendant. The light glittered off her ruby ring, shining also on her Angel Eyes suede and leather bag from the Francesco Biasia Collection.

He didn't know how he could tell from such a distance, but Harry just knew that her aquamarine eyes shone with the true delight of life.

He knew, as soon as he saw her, that she was special. Her ethereal beauty made his heart flutter. She was obviously powerful and destined to do great things, and he could tell just by looking at her that she was really nice and smart.

"Who is..." he started to ask but trailed off, silent in awe of the great beauty before him.

"That would be her," said Hermione in a voice that was somehow full of both hate and adoration.

"Your American cousin," said Ginny, "you never told us her name,"

"I," sighed Hermione, almost as though it was painful to talk, "It's just that she's so..."

"Beautiful" finished Ron for her. She didn't correct him.

"Wow" sighed Neville as they all stared out the window at Marietta, completely in awe.


	3. Sorting Suelené

I personally think that Hufflepuff rocks. Just going by mascots, I've seen what badgers can do when they're attacked, and it's not pretty. But you know, I've never seen a Sue in Hufflepuff, so maybe they really are the most fortunate house.

This chapter doesn't have as many jokes as I'd like it to. It's not my favourite but I do think it's the best I can do right now.

Also, I happen to think that "I feel your pain" is one of the funniest lines out there.

I hope you enjoy the Sue's Sorting Song. I'm pretty proud of it. However it seems I can't format it properly, so please imagine it in groups of four lines.

* * *

The rest of the train ride was completely uneventful as everyone was too busy staring at Marietta to do anything exciting. Even the sweet-trolley lady failed to make her rounds, being too consumed with the marvelous sight.

The dragon kept pace with the train for the entire journey and when the train came to a stop it landed right beside the platform, its huge talons digging into the Earth.

Disembarking from the train the students swarmed around Marietta and her dragon, but none of them got too close because they knew how dangerous dragons were.

Hagrid, who had been waiting for the first-years, felt no such need for caution and swiftly approached the magnificent creature.

"'E's beautiful" cooed Hagrid while examining the scales on the dragon's orange neck.

The dragon appeared to be just as interested in Hagrid and spent the next little while staring determinedly into his beard.

Marietta paid no attention to this and hopped off of the dragon. She landed right in front of Harry and his friends.

"Damn British people, why can't you have normal laws?"

Harry thought that this was a bit hypocritical coming from someone who'd been raised in a country where there were laws about shagging porcupines, but quickly put aside that unflattering thought.

"Why do you say that?"

"These guys in like, totally drab robes like popped out and assaulted me"

"Popped out and assaulted you?"

"Like apparition or whatever, it's not important. Anyways these guys were like totally up in my face like 'underaged magic' but who the hell cares, like, I'm gonna do magic if I wanna do magic and you can't like stop me. So they held me back long enough to like miss the train. It was terrible."

Those around her felt a wave of pity come over them, she had suffered so much.

"So how did you get here?" asked Neville who was in fact aware that she'd ridden in on the back of a dragon, but felt the need to ask anyways.

"I called Charizard here. He ate the annoying men for me and then we like, followed the train."

"Oh," said Ron ignoring the fact that the young woman before him had just admitted to having her familiar commit manslaughter. "Do you want to ride the carriages up to the castle with us?"

"They're pulled by Thestrals!" chimed in Hermione who, for some reason, felt compelled to impress her beautiful cousin.

"I know," said the girl, her voice filled with pain, "I can see them."

The group gasped.

"How?" questioned Ginny.

"My mother... she died in an accident," A single perfect tear made it's way down her ivory cheek. "I saw it, I saw it all,"

Her knees gave out and she collapsed into Harry's arms. He could smell her flowery perfume and the physical contact was making him feel rather dazed, but in a good way.

He held her up and, looking into her aquamarine eyes, said "I'm so sorry, I saw my mother die too."

"It, it's so hard! It's so hard to go on without her."

"I know" he consoled her, rubbing small circles on her back, "I feel your pain"

The two motherless teens appeared to feel a spiritual union. It was beautiful in an emotive sort of way.

"The carriages are leaving." observed Luna, seeming completely unconcerned.

And so all scrambled aboard a still stationary carriage which began to move as soon as they shut the door.

It was more than slightly cramped but none of them seemed to notice or care, all that mattered was Marietta Suelené and she looked comfortable enough sitting on Harry's lap.

"Oh Herms!" She cried "You've gone and undone all my lovely work".

For a reason beyond Hermione's understanding she felt very guilty.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me. You spent all that effort making me sexy and I selfishly undid it all. I am really, very sorry."

Marietta sniffled "It's okay, I see what you think about me. I know you, like, hate me because I'm from another country. I understand, you have these like stupid prejudices. I don't expect you to be as, like, open minded as me."

"Oh Mary no, I don't-" Hermione was cut off by Marietta reaching over and slapping her. "It's Marietta! Don't make that mistake again Herms".

For a second the carriage was filled with horror. Marietta's shape seemed to waver and the other occupants were infuriated by what she'd done, but the moment didn't last and everything returned to how it had been seconds before.

"I'm sorry" apologised Hermione again, holding her cheek. "I shouldn't have-"

"No" Marietta cut her off, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... well, you can forgive your cousin right?"

She smiled, making every person's heart melt.

"Of course, that's what family's for" said Hermione without emotion. No-one noticed her lack of tone.

---xx0oo0lOvOl0oo0xx---

As the carriage came to a halt and the group descended Ron attempted to start a conversation.

"Your Charizard," said Ron "My brother works with dragons and I've never seen anything like that. What breed is it?"

"It's like, a dragon, it's dragon breed,"

"Oh," Ron felt was the only appropriate response.

"You know they don't allow dragons as familiars here," Hermione stated "Only owls and cats and toads"

"No-one will mind Charry" Marietta smiled "I'll just keep him in, like, the owlery,"

"I don't think the owlery is actually that big," said Ginny, "There won't be enough room for him and all the owls"

"Then I'll keep him like on the owlery, chillax"

This seemed to end the discussion and the group ascended the steps to the castle. Though she'd never been there before Marietta led the way through the Entrance Hall and into the Great Hall. The others left her to sit at their tables and, with all eyes on her, she walked to the center of the Hall and waited for the sorting to start.

As usual, McGonagall led the first years into the Hall and set the hat on the stool and, as usual, the rip on the brim opened and the hat began to sing:

"It matters not what year you're in

For as you'll shortly see

Your education's not the goal

You're here to worship she

She's elegant; intelligent

And she says she's not a whore

Since this year's story depends on her

Just pray she's not a bore

The most important thing you see

Is who she's here to do

If you're rich; famous, and very hot

There's a chance it'll be you!

The house is very important

For any girl it's true

So is her favourite colour red?

Or green or black or blue?

Of course, a perfect placing should

Depend on more than preference

But if she would request a house

I'd acquiesce with deference.

She is a perfect specimen

Of females sublime

But would you want to be like her?

I guess we'll see in time.

Throughout this year you're sure to see

That she's a shining star

Though if you can't see more of her

You can't see very far

But if I could less nonsense say

I'd give warning to you

If I may beg one thing this year,

Don't give in to the Sue"

The students near the center of the Hall clapped enthusiastically though some around the edges looked puzzled.

McGonagall stepped forward and looked about to say something when Dumbledore stood, "This year we have a very special student attending Hogwarts. She's a transfer from America and since she's not a first year she's going to be sorted first." He said, "Please give a special welcome to Marietta Nightingale Dawnrose Fairchild Tinúviel Sicamna Ladilla Suelené". All of the students in the hall applauded and only one person turned to their neighbour to say "If I was her, I'd hate my parents".

When the applause died down Marietta walked up and sat on the stool, delicately placing the scruffy hat on her gorgeous head.

The hat considered Ravenclaw because Marietta was extraordinarily intelligent, the hat considered Slytherin because Marietta was sufficiently subtle; the hat considered Gryffindor because Marietta had uncommon bravery. The hat did not however consider Hufflepuff because, you know, loyalty is boring.

After several minutes the hat yelled out "Gryffindor" and the students cheered. As she made her way towards the Gryffindor table Marietta let her eyes wander over to the Slytherin table and, specifically, onto a platinum headed boy pouring himself a glass of pumpkin juice.

His eyes caught hers and, they stared at each other as though the rest of the world didn't exist. This connection was unfortunately cut when he continued to pour pumpkin juice until it ran into his lap. As he looked down and expletively expressed his displeasure she looked back to the Gryffindor table and saw Hermione, Harry, and Ron talking. She walked up to them and nudged Hermione who scooted over to allow her to sit.

While they ate the trio told her about their years at Hogwarts and then asked about her life. She told them of her past, a tale so beautiful and tragic that no writing could do it justice nor any recounting by anything other than her melodious voice convey the magnificence of such events.

After supper they went up to Gryffindor tower and Marietta regaled them some more with her exciting life story but when she found herself getting tired she decided that it was time for them to go to bed.

"Goodnight Harry" she called out as she ascended the steps to the girls' dorms. Hermione bid a quick farewell to her friends and followed her cousin up.

"Harry's pretty cute" Marietta said as they entered their room.

Lavender and Parvati, who had been sitting on their beds talking, looked at Marietta and Hermione.

"Yeah," said Lavender "I've been hearing that a lot lately"

"Oh yeah? Who's been saying it?" questioned Marietta.

"Oh, all sorts of people, pretty much everybody"

"Humph, well if he isn't mine by like tomorrow night I'll have to, like, kill myself or something!"

No-one commented on this, and in minutes they were all sound asleep.


	4. The Morning After

I've had this complete on my hard-drive for a while; that's not a good thing. Taking forever to write a chapter is one thing, but taking forever to write and then forever to post is even worse. I'm sorry; I hope you'll like it even so. I wanted someone to come in during the Photo-shoot scene, throw up his hands, say "I'm not dealing with this shit!" and leave, but that would've been out of character, so I refrained. I still felt the need to talk about it though. There's a bit of swearing in this chapter. I think I have a reason for all of it, so I don't believe I need to up the rating.

* * *

When Hermione woke up the next morning, the new bed was empty and Marietta was nowhere to be found. As Parvati and Lavender were still sleeping, she quickly got ready for the first day of classes before waking them and going to meet Ginny down in the common room.

"Are Harry and Ron still in bed?" she asked the redhead.

"I don't know where Ron is," Ginny replied, "But Harry left with your cousin a while ago." She sounded somewhat disturbed.

"You don't think there's anything... odd about her, do you?" Ginny asked as they walked out of the portrait hole.

"Oh, definitely. I feel like I'm not in control of myself when I'm near her. I..." Hermione stopped walking for a second and shook her head, "Well, there's something out of place. Something about her is just... off. I don't feel like I really know her. She's so... I think she's gorgeous, and witty, and everything I could want a cousin, or a friend, to be. But I don't know why I think that. I feel like she's always been around, and so outgoing, but I don't have any specific memories of her."

"Sounds like a Mary Sue to me," said a voice from behind them.

"Oh, Luna! I didn't see you there" said Ginny, turning to face her friend.

"It's alright," said Luna "I was probably unseeable."

"You mean invisible," said Hermione, in a slightly harsher tone than was necessary, "and we couldn't see you because you were behind us."

"Well I'm sure that had some small thing to do with it," said Luna in a very dignified voice "but your cousin, Marietta, she's a Mary Sue."

"What exactly is a Mary Sue?" Ginny asked.

"It's a person who changes everything. Usually a girl who takes over other people's emotions and makes them act strangely. Everyone thinks she's beautiful and perfect and she can do just about anything."

They considered this for a moment, and things may have ended differently if Luna hadn't continued.

"They probably came from outer space."

"Oh," sighed Hermione, "I guess it was too good to be true."

"Yes, people often think that Mary Sues are too good to be true. That's usually the reason they're found out"

"No, not that, that you'd..." Hermione kindly rethought her sentence "that we'd find out why we feel odd around her so easily."

It's because she's a Mary Sue!" insisted Luna.

Hermione sighed, "Mary Sue's aren't real; they're like your Crumple-Horned Snorkacks"

"Those are real too!"

"I'm sure."

"It's up to you to believe me or not, but I am telling the truth" said Luna, "But I can't stand around here all day; I have to disinfect my astronomy textbook. It's full of martles, though I suppose you wouldn't believe that either." She turned on her heel and left.

"You weren't very nice to her," reprimanded Ginny.

"Well I'm sorry, but she's not the one who has to deal with someone constantly haranguing her about her drab fashion-sense, and transforming her clothes without asking whether or not she'd appreciate it!"

"No, she's had to deal with worse things," said Ginny as they rounded a corner.

Hermione sighed, "I'll apologise next time I see her. By the way, where did you learn that spell to transfigure my clothes back to normal?"

Ginny blushed, "It was in a fashion magazine. The examples looked nothing like what you had on though. I'm glad it worked."

"Believe me, so am I."

The girls heard a commotion up ahead. When they turned the corner they saw Marietta and Harry surrounded by a small crowd. At the forefront was Colin Creevy, who looked like he was gathering courage to say something.

"Hey!" cried Colin, "can I take your picture?"

"I don't think–" Harry started, but was quieted by Marietta.

"I don't mind. I used to do this, like, all the time."

She struck a sexy pose and the camera clicking began.

When she twisted around for a shot to show exactly how flexible she was, she saw Hermione and Ginny looking on in what may have been terror.

"Oh Herms! Gingin! Join me!"

The girls started to refuse, but as Marietta approached them the idea seemed less and less horrific. Thus, with only minimal protest, the girls allowed Marietta to transform their clothes into something of her own devising, and joined her in posing for the camera.

And so Hogwarts had its sexiest photo shoot ever, until Colin ran out of film, which is especially impressive because he always kept at least twenty rolls on him.

"We'd better get to class," said Hermione, "I think we may be late."

"This means I've missed breakfast twice in as many days," Ginny grumbled.

"No worries," consoled Marietta, "sometimes a girl needs to, like, skip meals to keep her figure."

"Yes well, I'd better be getting to class. See you later." Ginny waved at Marietta and Hermione as she pushed her way through the circle of onlookers.

"We have charms," said Hermione as Marietta latched onto Harry's arm and led the way to the classroom.

As it turned out, they were a bit late, but Professor Flitwick was so pleased to have Marietta in his class that he didn't penalize them or make a fuss about their outfits.

Marietta and Harry took their seats in front of Ron, and Hermione slid in beside him.

"I've been looking for you! Why weren't you at breakfast?"

"Sorry, we got held up. Colin wanted us to model for him." Hermione told him.

"Oh, did Marietta choose your outfit? She has good fashion sense."

There was silence for a second and then "Are you implying that I don't?"

"What? No! I wasn't-"

"You were! You think that I couldn't sexy my way out of a paper bag, don't you?"

"No! I never said-"

She stood up "Ronald Bilius Weasley, you– you are the most socially inept prick I have ever had the displeasure of knowing!"

Marietta Nightingale Dawnrose Fairchild Tinúviel Sicamna Ladilla Suelené turned around, "Your middle name is, like, Bilius? How awkward is that?"

The entire classroom burst into laughter as a hot blush swept across Ron's face.

"Here Hermione, you can sit with Marietta. I'll sit with Ron," said Harry the peacemaker, "If that's okay with you darling."

"Okay, Harry-Berry" Marietta said, and gave Harry a soft peck on the lips.

Harry and Hermione exchanged seats, and professor Flitwick continued to explain the charm he was teaching.

"The Trueseeing charm reveals deception. You're going to partner up with the person sitting beside you, and cast the spell on them. When the spell has been cast, tell your partner two things you did today. One of them should be a lie, and one of them should be true; please try not to make the lies too outrageous. If you can see through your partner's deception, then you've done it correctly."

Marietta turned to Hermione, "I'll go first."

"Remember, it's a swirl and a swish movement," Flitwick demonstrated.

"Verrosa" cast Marietta, her melodious voice shaping the syllables perfectly.

"I misplaced my comb this morning, and had to search for it. I also forgot to tie my shoes, but that doesn't matter now, because you've transformed them into red high-heels," Hermione said, doing her best to give Marietta the challenge she deserved.

"You never forgot to tie your shoes!" cried Marietta victoriously.

"Right in one. Let me try now," Hermione giggled.

"Verrosa" she cast, with a swirl and a swish.

That can be pinpointed as the exact moment when everything went to hell.

There was a second where everyone stood still. There was a sound of violent wind, ripping paper, and breaking crockery. Marietta's image wavered, and with a sound like shattering glass, it dissolved.

In the place where the epitome of beauty had once stood, there was now a simple-looking, average girl, bordering on unfortunate.

She may have been pretty enough, if she removed the clownish circles of blush, and the eyeshadow that made her look as though she'd been beaten.

She could have looked fine if it wasn't for the fake tan that was more orange than anything resembling a natural colour, and the botched dye job which probably wasn't meant to have a greenish tinge to it.

She would have looked alright if she wiped off the slightly smeared bright orangey-red lipstick; if she hadn't starved herself to the point of looking like a famine survivor; if she wasn't looking at the girl in front of her with utmost hatred.

"What have you done to me?" her shrill scream resounded, "You bitch! How could you do this?"

Her shouts seemed to bring everyone back to reality. For the first time, they looked at the girl who called herself Marietta without any powers affecting their opinion of her.

"Who are you?" demanded Hermione, but instead of saying anything the girl leapt at her.

"Expelliarmus" cast Harry, just barely missing the enraged girl as she knocked his friend over.

"I'll kill you! You can't have them all to yourself! I was supposed to be here! I was supposed to save everybody! I was going to defeat Voldemort and make everyone's lives perfect! I was gonna cure lycanthropy, and unite the wizard and muggle worlds! I was gonna find a counter for the unforgivables, and I was gonna become the best minister of magic ever! I was gonna prove that nargles exist, and I was gonna save the fucking rainforests. You ruined everything, you slut! And I'll make sure you pay. Don't think I won't!"

She held Hermione to the ground, mostly because Hermione was too shocked to fight back, and whispered, "You'll wish I'd killed you here. They'll hurt me, but they'll punish you a thousand times more."

With that she tore out a handful of Hermione's hair, scratching her face with what now looked like nothing more than a cheap, gaudy plastic ring, and ran out of the classroom.

Ron was the first to follow her, and with his long legs he almost caught up to her, but just when he got close enough to grab her, he tripped over a large green pendant. The chain seemed to tie his feet together, but it was probably just a trick of the light.

The girl who had been called Marietta ran on. She practically flew through the corridors and barely slowed when she got to the entrance hall.

The only thing between her and the doors was the platinum haired boy she'd stared at last night.

She kept running.

He looked at her in much the same way that a deer looks at two mysterious spots of light getting closer and closer.

She bowled him over, and when he tried to grab at her to regain his balance, all he got was a small bracelet that broke from her wrist and stained his skin with rust.

When she got to the doors, she found that, against all probability, they were locked. Swearing loudly, she ripped her earrings right out of her flesh, and thrust them together into the large keyhole. The doors opened without a sound, and she ran out, onto the grounds and away.


	5. Judgement

I'm hoping that I got creepy rather than anything else for most of this, but I never can tell with my own writing. If you think I've overdone it or anything please tell me. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this.

* * *

A still quite dazed Hermione sat up. She found herself in a skirt that may or may not have actually been a belt, and a blue top that looked as though someone had ravished it with both paint and scissors.

A few classrooms away, Ginny had recently noticed herself in much the same situation and, when she thought of what she'd just done, did a masterful job of controlling her embarrassment and not screaming in horror.

---xx0oo0lOvOl0oo0xx---

Hermione felt the blood by her left eyebrow and looked down at the ring that had fallen from her attacker's hand.

The gold paint on the band was chipping, and the gaudy red plastic jutting from it looked about to fall off.

"Are you okay?" a voice said beside her. She looked over to see Neville's worried face.

"Yes, it just stings a bit."

He smiled at her and helped her to her feet.

---xx0oo0lOvOl0oo0xx---

A little ways outside the classroom Ron was dealing with the chain that had wrapped itself around his ankles. Every time he unwound a bit of it, another part would seem to entangle him more. It was quite irritating.

---xx0oo0lOvOl0oo0xx---

Draco Malfoy was also irritated. He'd just been trampled down by some hideous apparition – no doubt due to the damned mudbloods that they let in the school – and now couldn't get rid of the faint rust stain that some cheap imitation of jewelry had left on his hand. He scratched at his palm. Deciding that he'd rather be late to class than stuck with this irritating him for the next hour, he headed towards the closest bathroom, dropping the offensive bracelet on his way.

---xx0oo0lOvOl0oo0xx---

Harry left the classroom in search of Ron. If he'd caught the girl then... well he probably wouldn't have had much trouble restraining her, but Harry didn't want for him to have to deal with her alone.

He came across his friend in the middle of a corridor, looking quite uncomfortable and trying to untwine a white chain from around his legs.

"Here, two hands are better than one," said Harry as he bent down and picked up one end of the chain while Ron freed himself.

"Eurg," said Ron, picking up the milky yellowish-green pendant that had dropped from the chain when Harry had picked it up. "What a hideous colour!"

"We should leave it here; whoever dropped it could come back looking for it."

"If they didn't lose it on purpose."

---xx0oo0lOvOl0oo0xx---

The girl was quite an impressive runner. Perhaps she could have competed in the sport, if her life had been different. As it was, she was wishing that her life had been different. But, to be fair, people often do. This girl wasn't really a person though, not as other people are. She was, no, she had been, what was most commonly referred to as a Mary Sue. Now she was in trouble.

As she ran off the Hogwarts grounds she could hear voices calling her. Calling her true name. Calling her back.

"No!" She cried into what looked like empty air "I won't come. I like it here. I can make it better. I can fix things. Just give me another chance, please, just one more." The voices held no pity; the speakers felt nothing for her. They weren't capable of it.

"Please," she begged softly one last time, before disappearing with a sound that can't be accurately described. The closest thing it could be likened to is the sound of something very large being shoved through something very small, while being turned inside out.

---xx0oo0lOvOl0oo0xx---

She was thankful as she regained consciousness, simply because she could regain consciousness. There were certain rules that had to be observed, but when something like her had failed to the degree that she had, the gift of mere consciousness was not to be overlooked.

She would have smiled if she could have. It seemed though that the body they'd given her was no longer under her control. She couldn't see anything, and she wasn't sure whether this was because she had been stripped of sight, or because there was nothing to see, but she hung on to the fact that she still existed.

"You have failed," what can be best described as a voice but was most certainly not, washed through her. "We gave you the means, we gave you the opportunity, and we gave you the knowledge required to do this. And yet you failed. You failed so impressively that you alerted the characters to your presence. You failed almost impossibly." The speaker paused for a moment, "You are aware that the punishment for this is destruction. We've not had to resort to this in so long but," there was something that may have been a sigh or may have been a laugh "When this happens the perpetrator tends to be destroyed by the characters themselves. Unless you have some very interesting news for us, we're going to have to take it upon ourselves to make an example of you."

There was an expectant silence, "Nothing?"

The creature we've come to know as Marietta Suelené tried to speak, but as her body was no longer under her control, she couldn't. She was puzzled for a second before she remembered that they had no need of such things.

"I," she started, "I know this is bad. But please, there was no way I could have expected that to happen. Something was wrong with the illusion; it was dispelled by a simple spell. I was discovered too easily. It all happened so quickly; there was nothing I could do."

"So, you insult our illusions and you refuse to shoulder any of the blame. We are not impressed. It is our sad duty to inform you that-"

"Wait! Please, that's not all. I left the things you gave me in the castle. As long as they're there the door is open to us! And! And I got a handful of that girl's hair! The one you sent me to be related to. She's the one that caused all this! She's the one you should punish!"

"Thank you. We shall take this into consideration." There was a sound like wind rustling through leaves, but it wasn't like wind in the trees on a nice, clear day, so much as like wind in the trees in a dark forest with nothing but foliage stretching in every direction and the promise that something in it is watching you, and that something is hungry.

"Very good. We have decided that you will be destroyed. Please prepare yourself."

"But... No! No! Please, be fair! I got the hair! I left the-! You don't have to do this. I'm still useful! I can go back, differently; I know them now! I can–"

"It could be worse."

What we have come to know as Marietta Suelené knew that this was true. She also knew that this was wrong, that she didn't deserve this, and that it wasn't her fault, not really.

And then she knew no more.

It was for the best, really.


	6. Layers

I do prefer to write in past tense, but I'm using present tense here to try to make it different from the other parts of the story. I'm hoping that it's working, and not interfering with the flow.

* * *

Let us theorise for a minute. Assume that there are different layers of reality, that some things are more real than others. Assume also that belief is what makes things real. If such is the case then everything you've ever imagined is real, if only a little bit. It's not really a comforting notion, especially when you think of those things that you used to believe lived in the dark, small corners of your world. Let us assume then that the reason these things never really bothered you was because, as much as you believed in them, you retained a bit of doubt as to their existence. Thus they were never quite real enough to hurt you. Assume then that all your idle daydreams were given the smallest hint of reality, enough to exist but not enough to be real. Accept then that in one of the many, many layers of reality there is room for the following.

Imagine, if you will, a room. Large, white, and circular. Imagine it filled with more people than it could possible hold, yet not being cramped. Imagine a raised dais on which three females stand.

One of them has golden curls that somehow stay perfectly in place even when she whips her head from side to side, following the movement of those below her. Her skin is pale like cream, and her lips are pink like bubblegum. Her eyes are as blue as the sea, and others avoid looking into them because they have a deepness one could drown in. Her dress is a soft pink, a very poofy thing reminiscent of a bride's dress or of the princess' in fairy tales. Two pure white wings jut out of her back; they look like what we've come to expect angel's wings would.

The second one has a tail. It's long, thin, black, and furry. It reaches almost to the ground where the end curls up. It pokes out of a hole in the back of her black, almost knee-length skirt with white ruffles. Her top is a corset in the same style. On her arms she wears poofballs beneath each shoulder; they continue into loose, flowing sleeves. Her ankle length hair is periwinkle, and near the top of her head there are two large, black cat ears. The pupils of her yellow eyes are vertical, and her nails are painted deep red. Their length and sharpness is almost unremarkable.

There is nothing sharp or hard about the third one. She is made of curves, and they are all perfectly placed. She is a biological impossibility, with a waist that must be too small to support any internal organs, and a massive bust that defies gravity. She is wearing clothing, and maybe it's leather or maybe it's lace, but for some reason one can't really tell. Her hair is sidhe scarlet and her lips are blood red; they move slightly as she counts the heads below her. Her eyes are green, not so much like emeralds, as like shards of broken bottles.

The winged one speaks, her voice is sweet like molasses.

"I'm afraid there's been an incident. You know what happened."

And suddenly they all do. Those below her pause and stand silently, staring at the dais.

The winged one holds out her hand and displays several strands of brown hair.

"Because of the intricacies now involved, we are requesting a volunteer. You know what must be done."

And, once again, they suddenly do.

Those below the dais start to talk among themselves. Most of them haven't been created in a way that would be useful for this, and those that have don't want to get involved with something that has already gone awry.

The conversations trail off as one figure draws attention to herself, "I'll do it. I can use the hair too, if you want. Raevynne can come with me."

"What? I never volunteered. I don't wanna go, I'm not ready yet," someone else protests, but she is ignored.

The cat-girl on the dais perks up, "Oh yes, you two should go together. Two heads are better than one, and it looks like you'll need all the help you can get." She giggles softly before losing interest in the goings on, and fascinating herself with her nails.

The first speaker approaches the dais, she is completely unremarkable, the sort of person that one's eyes simply pass over. She reaches up, and the winged one drops the strands of hair onto her hands.

The unremarkable girl captures the strands, and clasps her hands around them, bringing them up to her face. Everything is silent and still, and then she begins to change. It starts with her skin, just a slightly different tone; then moves to her hair, curling, frizzing and colouring it brown. The bones in her face shift, and cartilage rearranges itself. Her body changes slightly, not much, but enough to make the disgusting sound of small, organic things moving.

She looks, in the end, quite a bit like Hermione Granger. There's something off about the disguise, but to someone who doesn't know the original very well, or who isn't really paying attention, she may as well be one and the same.

When she unclasps her hands they are empty.

The curvy redhead grins down at her and says in a sensual voice, "Don't be gentle on her, She's part of the reason everything's gone to hell."

The look-alike opens its mouth to say something, but is cut off by the winged one.

"Very good. I'm sure when you're in you'll be able to procure something similar for your little friend. If there's nothing more, we'll send you straight away."

"Yes miss," says one voice as another says, "Wait, I don't want t–". It doesn't get to finish, because by the time it would have, the throat it came from is not longer present.

The others continue what they were doing as though the disturbance never happened. And, in some ways, it didn't.


	7. Reentry

Just to put one of the features of this chapter in context, I wear nothing but black and have, maybe once or twice, written really, really bad poetry. I may have had a little bit too much fun thinking up names for the new Sues, but I hope you'll excuse that. In any case, here's the next chapter; I hope you'll enjoy it.

* * *

Two figures stood at the edge of a dark, foreboding forest, gazing at a not too distant castle.

"So you'll have to hide in the forest for a day or two, don't worry about it. We're getting practical experience here. You'll be glad you did it soon enough."

"I won't! You didn't even ask me. Nobody asks me. Nobody ever cares what I think."

The thing that had taken Hermione's shape looked fondly at the girl beside her.

"Aww, buck up. I bet that castle is filled with hot boys."

Seeing a positive change in the posture of the girl, she continued, "Come on Raevynne, it's a castle. It's got to be filled with dark hallways and abandoned rooms. There are probably huge windows you'll look great sitting in front of. It's got witches, so you know there'll be black cats prowling around, probably even bats. Who knows, you may even find someone to read your poetry to."

"That would be nice. Has anyone ever really listened to my poetry before? I just wrote an epic about the unrelenting darkness that consumes my tattered soul. It goes like: Oh you, the fool who dares to try to comprehend my listless suffering, if only the agony of my–"

"That sounds great! You're doing some really good work. I would listen to more, but I've got to go and infiltrate the enemy. Eurgg," she combed her fingers through her hair, "something will have to be done with this frizz. But first, I'll have to do something about the frizz-face herself."

Hermione's doppelganger set off towards the castle, but was stopped by Raevynne calling after her once more.

"Fjeijei,"

"Yes?"

"I wanna be someone cute, but she's got to have pale skin. I don't care about her hair, I can dye that, but I wanna play someone who'll look really good in black."

"I'll do what I can, I promise. Now you stay here while I go and work this out, okay? Try not to get into trouble."

"Trouble," grumbled Raevynne as Fjeijei walked away, "As though I ever get into trouble. It's just that everybody's always gotta be oppressing me."

She turned to a tree, and occupied herself by picking at the peeling bark.

---xx0oo0lOvOl0oo0xx---

Fjeijei was not impressed. The objects that had been given to the last girl had not been hidden competently. She sensed that the earrings were in the door; since she could not extract them, she figured that they were fine. It was the fact that she'd just stood on the bracelet that made her uneasy. If the objects left the school, if they were sent outside her area of control, then her powers would be awfully diminished. Fjeijei suspected that she'd need every advantage she could get to succeed where Marietta had failed.

Fjeijei picked up the rusted bracelet. As it came in contact with her skin the rust faded, and it regained its gleam. She fit it around her wrist; it really was quite becoming.

The necklace wasn't far away; she could feel it pulling at her. She wandered through the corridors, following the pull like the needle of a compass. Just as she spotted it, lying in a twisted up pile on the floor, she had her first encounter with the castle's inhabitants.

Two girls had been walking at a sedate pace, but their steps sped up as they saw her.

"Hermione," one called out as they approached, "It's good to see you wearing the school robes."

"We heard about what you did earlier, with Ginny and that other chick," the other girl smiled unpleasantly, "We didn't think you were like that."

Fjeijei assumed that this was a reference to some part of Marietta's failure, but she hadn't been told exactly what had happened.

"What?" she asked, before thinking about whether or not the real Hermione would have not known what they were talking about.

"Don't play coy," the first girl rolled her eyes, "Your trampy photo shoot with Colin. We've seen the pictures, everyone has."

Fjeijei didn't know what to say. She didn't know how the person she was supposed to be would react. She was confused, she was frustrated, and she was terrified of failure. So she went with the most common and bland response she could think of.

"You're just jealous."

"Uhh, no. You looked like a tart."

"You're jealous. You're jealous because you know that even if you dressed like that, no-one'd want you. You're jealous because I'm prettier than you are."

The girls recoiled.

"What's gotten into you?" one of them asked, "You came back from summer holidays a freak."

"Let's just go," the other one said, "I want to get as far away from her as possible. Who knows, it might be contagious."

With disgusted glances the girls scurried away.

Fjeijei picked up the necklace. What had just happened was bad. People weren't supposed to react to her like that. It meant that something was wrong, most likely one of the objects was missing.

Fjeijei did a quick calculation in her head. The earrings were accounted for; the bracelet and necklace were fine. What had happened to the ring?

---xx0oo0lOvOl0oo0xx---

The real Hermione sat at the edge of the lake with her two best friends.

"It was weird. I'm not even sure what happened. I can see it now, but when she was here I couldn't place it. She just showed up at King's Cross, and it felt like she'd always belonged there. It wasn't right, but it was correct," she sighed, "Am I making any sense?"

"As much as I could," said Harry, "And I was the one she was..."

"Choking with her tongue? Glued to, by the lips? Dementoring?"

"Dementor isn't a verb, Ron."

"Yeah, but it's fairly accurate," acceded Harry.

"Hmm," said Hermione, who had opened her mouth to defend the girl before remembering that she was indefensible.

She groaned, and leaned forward, hitting her forehead on her knees.

"What?"

"Are you okay?"

"No," she moaned before turning her face to them, "Colin's probably already developed the photos. I can never show my face in public again."

Laughter followed her statement, but it wasn't cruel.

"Don't worry, everyone'll know that you were acting under influence. No-one can blame you." Harry comforted her.

"Ha! Have you been going to another Hogwarts for the last few years or something? Hermione, you're going to have the piss taken out of you."

"Thanks Ron," said Hermione, "That's exactly what I wanted to hear."

"Well it's true," Ron protested, "but what really matters is that Harry and I'll be there, and we'll wallop anyone who bothers you or Ginny about it."

"Violence is not the answer," stated Hermione, though she added a silent _probably_ to the end, "And thanks, but I can take care of myself. Ginny can too."

"Yeah, well, the offer stands."

"What are you playing with?" Harry asked, glimpsing something red that Hermione kept turning over in her hands.

"It's just a ring. It's ugly, really. _**She **_dropped it," Hermione ran a finger over the pink line where it had scratched her face.

"You should throw it out; it's creepy. Besides, it'll be best if we don't have any reminders of her."

Hermione opened her mouth, then shut it and nodded, "Yeah, it'd be nice to forget her, if that's possible. When we go in, I'll throw it in the first bin I see."

"No," said Ron, reaching over and grabbing the gaudy ring, "You do it like this."

He reached his hand behind his head, then, using all the momentum a sitting person could, he flung the ring into the middle of the lake.

It landed with a satisfying plunk, and sunk immediately, the only indicators of its presence concentric circles that quickly faded.

"And that's that."

"The squid's probably going to find it. It'll get stuck in his throat or something."

"Too small, and too bad."


	8. Stalking

I apologize for not updating for so long. There have been some real life issues, and since things haven't been quite resolved yet I don't know when I'll have a chance to update again. They're not terrible issues, they're just keeping me busy, so if you're worrying, please don't, this isn't being abandoned. Thank you for sticking with this, and here is the next chapter.

* * *

Fjeijei strained to sense the ring, but despite her efforts, she couldn't find it. She knew this meant that the ring had left the castle, and that was not good news. She could do without the ring for a while, but keeping up her illusions, especially the ones she put in people's minds, was strenuous. It would be best, she decided, to limit her work to important people, but it wasn't always easy to tell who was important.

Fjeijei cursed under her breath. The language she used was old and malevolent; the syllables froze the air, and dimmed the already sparse light.

She'd known, going in to this, that she'd be at a disadvantage, that was why she had brought Raevynne along. It was just becoming apparent to her how much of a disadvantage she'd be at. Raevynne was useful, but relied heavily on mind control. She was good at it, magnificent even, but Fjeijei wasn't sure she was magnificent enough to make up for the loss of one of the items, especially if she had to do it for the both of them.

At least, with Raevynne there, Fjeijei'd have someone to blame if things didn't work out.

Fjeijei crept through the castle. The impulse to explore was strong, but the need to find the girl she looked like was stronger.

She didn't have to search for long; peering around the corner of a corridor, she saw her prey. The girl whose body she had copied was making shooing gestures at two boys, and walking into a huge room filled with books.

Fjeijei gave a small sigh of relief as the boys wandered off in the opposite direction. She crept toward the library, wondering if it would be worth it to wipe the mind of anyone who looked her way.

---xx0oo0lOvOl0oo0xx---

The Hogwarts students didn't even notice her enter. One or two may have looked up, but they weren't surprised when they saw her. Hermione Granger was in and out of the library at all hours, and it they thought for a second that they had just seen her come in, then it was obviously their own mind playing tricks on them. They had been studying so hard; it was no wonder if they'd lost track of time. She'd probably left and come back, maybe more than once.

---xx0oo0lOvOl0oo0xx---

Fjeijei followed her prey on a winding trek through rows of bookshelves before she reached a small clearing containing several tables. Hermione sat at one of them, and engrossed herself in her homework. Hermione's doppelganger hid behind a shelf, and engrossed herself in studying the girl.

She watched Hermione, almost without blinking. She mimed little movements, her grip on the quill, the flick of her head to get hair out of her face, the way she smoothed her parchment.

Supernatural hearing alerted Fjeijei to the approach of another person long before they came close enough to alert her prey. With a silent snarl she switched her attention to the source of the noise. She navigated her way around the bookshelves, careful to avoid any place where she could be seen by either the newcomer or Hermione.

She caught a glimpse of pale skin through the bookshelves and smiled. Perhaps she could get Raevynne a body sooner than she had expected.

She moved away from Hermione and toward the newcomer. It was a girl; Raevynne would be very pleased about that. Her hair clashed terribly with the red-and-gold scarf she was wearing, but the colour itself was pretty enough. She looked to be about the same age as Hermione, perhaps a bit younger, but not much.

"Rottence, Rotuska, Rotursken, Roturskie..." she read aloud as her finger traced a line across the spines of old books.

"Roturskus!" she pulled the one her finger had stopped on out of the shelf, and silently read its cover.

"Right; just two more," she slipped the book into her satchel, and consulted a piece of paper.

"What are you doing here?" asked Fjeijei, stepping out where Ginny could see her.

"Getting books," said Ginny, pointedly not adding "obviously" onto the end of her statement.

"Oh, yeah," Fjeijei brought her hand up to momentarily cover her eyes, "I've been studying pretty hard. I think I'm a bit out of it right now."

Ginny gasped in mock-shock, "I thought I'd never see the day. Hermione Granger admitting that studying has its downside! What has the world come to? You know I'll have to tell everyone. It's got to be the sign of an impending apocalypse. Next thing you know Snape'll be giving points because he likes my scarf."

Fjeijei was getting the impression that the girl she was pretending to be knew what a party was, but only in the definition of "I didn't go to it."

"I didn't say I was finished studying, just that I was in a state of mind where my communication should be limited to the written word."

"Ah, then I guess creeping up on people doesn't qualify as a study-break for you."

"I was getting more reference," Fjeijei reached toward a shelf and grabbed the first book she touched. Seeing that it was titled _101 Varieties of Magical Foot Fungus (And How To Get Rid Of Them)_ she placed it back on the shelf with a grunt of disgust.

"Not that though," she laughed. Ginny stared at her.

Fjeijei started to panic, "Do you want to see what I found? Here, follow me."

She turned and started walking, looking back only once to see if the girl was following her. She weaved her way through the shelves, careful to avoid Hermione's study space and other open areas.

"Here, look," she said when she was sure that they were far enough away from other people that they couldn't be overheard. She pointed to a random book, placed on the lowest shelf.

"Isn't that amazing?"

Ginny looked at Fjeijei as though she thought this was either a trick, or an indication of insanity. Fjeijei was sure that the girl was about to make a fuss, but just as she was preparing to use what little mental influence she had, the girl looked down.

Fjeijei was moving before Ginny had time to wonder why her friend had lured her here to look at a third year astronomy textbook. Ginny felt frigid hands on the base of her skull and neck, which immediately turned searingly hot. She opened her mouth to scream, but fell to the floor, unconscious, before the sound made it past her throat.


	9. Forgery

Despite evidence to the contrary, I'm actually still alive and writing. This story is definitely veering into cerebus syndrome territory, but hopefully I'll manage to get it back into comedy in the next few chapters. I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

Fjeijei stood over the fallen girl. She was panting, and her hands had taken on a blue sheen, though that quickly faded. She dropped to her knees, and sat, breathing heavily for several minutes.

After composing herself, she reached out, and yanked out a handful of hair. The redhead gave no visible sign of protest, or, in fact, of anything. She simply lay there, corpselike. The only indication of life was her swift, shallow breathing.

Fjeijei put the hair in her pocket, then grabbed the girl's book satchel. She unwound the scarf from around Ginny's neck and tied it around her hands and feet. She wouldn't wake up, but if she did she wouldn't go anywhere.

Fjeijei stood, and tried to drag the body to a place where no-one would stumble over it. It was slow going because she spent half of her time trying to move as quietly as possible, and the other half listening to see if anyone had heard her. She ended up stuffing Ginny under a table, in a dusty corner that she hoped no-one frequented.

When she returned to Hermione's studying area, she discovered the girl packing up her books and notes, preparing to leave. Fjeijei followed her at a distance. She was exhausted, and didn't want to deal with anyone other than her prey. Luckily for her, Hermione was the last out of the library, and neither Hermione nor her doppelganger had to face any social encounters until they reached a large painting depicting a very rotund woman.

Hermione whispered to the portrait, and it swung forward to reveal a large room, decorated in red and gold, and filled with students.

Fjeijei hung back as Hermione entered. There were too many people there, and she was too worn out to keep them from noticing two Hermiones. She watched the portrait swing shut after her quarry, and decided to wait for someone she could trick into letting her in.

--xx0oo0lOvOl0oo0xx--

Neville was alone. Though he tried to be quiet, his footsteps echoed down the corridor. To the best of his knowledge, everyone who hadn't put their head down for a little rest after finishing up the potting in Greenhouse 3 was sound asleep in their dormitories.

He was nervous. It wasn't that he'd never been out after curfew, he had, and it wasn't that he was terrified of getting caught, though he knew it wouldn't be pleasant if he were. It just seemed that something wasn't right. The castle seemed darker, emptier than usual.

He laughed to himself, of course it did, it was nighttime and the students were asleep. It was silly to feel like that. What was the worst that could happen, he'd meet a ghost? All any ghost could do is startle him, or call for Filch at the worst. Still, Neville felt the need to speed up his pace. As he turned a corner and trotted toward the fat lady's portrait his sense of unease quadrupled. He really, really wanted company.

That was why, after an initial second of shock, he found the sight of Hermione Granger jumping out in from of him to be very calming.

"Hey!" she said, "Can you get us in? I've forgotten the password."

A look of confusion flitted across Neville's face, "Really? Are you feeling all right?"

For a fraction of a second, Hermione gave him a look which he thought seemed disgusted.

She sighed and shook her head, leaning her back against the wall.

"I don't know. Everything's happening to **me** these days. It's all so hectic; I just can't think properly."

Neville patted her shoulder, "That Marietta girl, who said she was your cousin? It makes sense that you're still worried about her. She was really strange; I don't know why she was after you," he paused, giving her an opportunity to speak if she had anything to add. At her silence he continued, "You don't think she could have been one of **his** people? She seemed really interested in Harry."

Hermione gave a short bark of laughter, "That sounds about right."

She straightened up, "In any case, we'd better go in. I'm getting tired, and it's almost tomorrow."

"oh, yeah, the password's... umm, contrafactionis"

The portrait creaked open, and they entered the empty common room.

"Your face looks better," he said, as they crossed to the staircases.

She looked at him sharply.

"I mean, the scratch has faded. You can barely see it."

"I heal quickly."

"That must be useful," he smiled at her, "goodnight," and began to climb the stairs to the dormitories.

"You too," she said, following him up.

He stopped and turned to face her, "Err, you're following me to the boys' dorms; I think you want the girls'."

She looked dazed, then shook her head, "Thanks. I'm really out of it."

She went back down the stairs, and tried climbing to the girls' dormitories instead.

"I hope you feel better in the morning," Neville said softly as he watched her go.

--xx0oo0lOvOl0oo0xx--

Hermione couldn't sleep. She'd lain in bed and stared at the canopy overhead. She kept replaying her experiences with Marietta over and over again in her head. She couldn't figure out what had happened. It was a problem she couldn't solve, and that really bothered her.

There'd been a moment in the carriage, when everything had seemed clear. Then it had been gone again, fogged up as though someone had poured water on rocks in a sauna. Why had everything been clear, and, more importantly, why had everything then become so obscure. Why had she not been able to figure out that Marietta wasn't her cousin? How could everything have seemed so right?

Hermione, because she was Hermione, had dealt with the stress her uncertainty caused, by reading a textbook. A very advanced guide to Arithmancy lay open in her lap. She'd cast a charm so that the light she was reading by couldn't leak out and wake her roommates, and another so that the assorted sleeping sounds of her roommates couldn't leak in and distract her. She'd made the area around her bed into what seemed like her own private universe, and she'd only thought of how that could work to her benefit.


	10. Incursion

This chapter is a bit short, but it's been about forever since I last updated, so I thought I should post something. I think it works as a short chapter, but it does have a cliff-hanger, so I'll try to get another one up before too long.

* * *

Fjeijei had looked into too many wrong dormitories. In each one of them girls slept in rows of beds. She'd been worried at first that she'd wake some of them up, either by moving too loudly or by pulling back bed-hangings too swiftly, and have to deal with putting them back to sleep in a non-suspicious manner. It was however, an unwarranted concern. Snores and the assorted muffled noises of sleepers had drowned out any sound she made, and her cautious movements were lost in the tossing, and turning, and twisting of bed-sheets.

She was getting fed up. It wasn't that the search was particularly strenuous, just that it had been going on for a long time, and she was tired.

She opened the door to the next dormitory with more force than was necessary. It bounced off the wall, but the sound didn't seem to deter any of the sleepers.

She checked in one bed, then another. Neither contained the girl she was looking for.

She faced some resistance when she tried pulling back the curtains of the third bed, but got them open without much difficulty. The bed inside was empty. Which is not to say that it was unoccupied, but that the area inside the canopy looked like a void. No light nor sound emerged from it.

Fjeijei smiled to herself. Even if this wasn't her mark, it was something interesting.

She noiselessly dropped the book bag she'd taken from Ginny beside the bed, then thrust a hand into the darkness, and felt it sink into a mass of curly strands. She closed her hand around them, but instead of pulling them out, she leaned closer in.

"-o you think you're doing?" a panicked voice met her ears as she thrust her head into the darkness.

From the inside, the darkness wasn't dark. It wasn't bright, but enough light to illuminate a few lines of writing emanated from the tip of a wand.

Fjeijei looked at the girl in front of her; it was like looking into a terrified mirror. She smiled.

"Finally, I've been looking for you forever."

"Get off of me!"

"No," said Fjeijei, "I need to talk to you."

She loosened her grip on the girl's hair so that she wasn't in constant pain, but didn't let go enough for her to get away either.

"You've probably noticed that weird things have been happening," Fjeijei sat on the bed, crossing her legs, "From what I understand, you've been trying to stop those things."

Hermione didn't respond. She kept her eyes on her doppelganger's face as she inched her hand toward her wand.

"Polyjuice potion?" she asked as Fjeijei's hands pulled at her hair.

"No, nothing so crude." Fjeijei laughed, "You know, your hair looks a lot better pulled straight."

"Why are you do– What are you doing?"

"I'm talking to you. I want you to tell me what happened that made the last one who was here, Marietta I think you knew her as, leave."

Marietta's words came back to Hermione: _they'll punish you a thousand times more_. The tips of her fingers touched her wand.

"There was a spell, a trueseeing charm. It was simple; everyone could do it. We had to cast it on each other in class. When I cast it on Marietta she... broke apart. She became someone else, then she ran."

"Hmm," Fjeijei pulled at Hermione's hair, not out of malice, but because she couldn't be bothered to support her own hand, "It doesn't make sense that the illusions of the sorority would be broken so easily. She had all of the items. Something else must have gone wrong; that can't be all that happened."

"That's all that I know about."

Fjeijei gazed at Hermione, taking in the cut above her brow. She brought her free hand up to trace the raised skin, "When did this happen?"

"Today," Hermione didn't know where the compulsion to lie came from, but she gave in to it, "I fell by the lake and hit a rock."

Fjeijei glared at Hermione as the skin above the doppelganger's left eyebrow split open, then meshed back together again. The scratch that mirrored Hermione's faded until it was barely visible.

"I've already made an excuse for that," Fjeijei told Hermione and her look of horror.

"Now, I can't honestly say I'm sorry, because you've caused us a lot of trouble, and quite frankly I find this fun, but I'm going to have to make sure you're out of the way."

Seeing Hermione's eyes widen, Fjeijei leaned in closer to the girl.

"I'm not going to kill you," she whispered, "You're just going to go to sleep; maybe I'll even let you dream."

Fjeijei brought her hands up to the base of Hermione's skull.

"You can scream if you want. I'm not gagging you, and it's obvious no-one can hear."

Fjeijei gave her a twisted smile as Hermione filled her lungs. She didn't see the wand gripped tightly in her hand.


	11. Usurpation

Ha! I knew I'd eventually find a good use for all those things I learnt in schoolyard fights. This chapter's pretty short too, but at least it ends on a more solid note. I hope you like it.

* * *

The jet of purple light missed her by millimeters.

Fjeijei snarled and flung her hand toward the wand.

"Relashio!"

Scarlet sparks fell upon her outflung arm. She withdrew it with a hiss.

"Petrifi– ah!"

The base of Hermione's skull hit her back as Fjeijei yanked on her hair as hard as possible.

"You little–" Fjeijei's free hand gripped Hermione's wand arm just below her elbow. "How'd you get a hold of that?"

"Stupefy," deft fingers had pointed the wand in the right direction. The beam of red light reached its target, and Hermione gasped as her captor's limp body collapsed, crushing her.

"What is going on here?" panted Hermione as she rolled her attacker to the side.

Her doppelganger's peaceful, untroubled, and above all unconscious face gave no response.

"When the polyjuice wears off, and I find out who you are, I'll... I don't know what I'll do, but I can guarantee you won't enjoy it."

"The only question is whether I should send you first to Dumbledore or to Madam Pomfrey," Hermione thought aloud, "Or better yet..."

Hermione leant over the edge of the bed, and out of the range of the privacy spells she'd cast. As she inhaled in preparation to call for her roommates' attention, she felt something brush against her ankle. Her shock froze her words before they left her throat, and before she could do anything, she was pulled back onto the bed.

"Did you really think that would work on me? I know I'm a good actor, but I'm actually disappointed in you."

Fjeijei forced her captive's face down on the bed, and kneeled on her back.

"Good to know though. If all you wizards just assume your spells work, and never check, it'll make my job easier."

She brought her hands up to the base of her victim's skull, but in doing so left Hermione's hands free.

Fjeijei screamed in agony as the witch's nails dug deep into the back of her knees.

Bucking upwards, Hermione threw her doppelganger aside, and rolled off the bed. She was sure that her crash would have awoken her roommates, but felt her attacker jump on her again before seeing any signs of them.

"Right then, no gloating," she heard, as a freezing pressure on the base of her skull turned painfully hot.

--xx0oo0lOvOl0oo0xx--

Fjeijei stared at the girl. What she'd just done felt strangely wrong.

She'd done it correctly, of course, and the girl wouldn't be waking up for quite a long time, but there was still something off.

Fjeijei shrugged aside her unease, and sorted through what she'd taken the opportunity to copy from her victim's mind.

The people the girl had thought of as friends... they were not as numerous, or as useful as Fjeijei would have liked. She'd have to do something about that; it'd be no fun if she wasn't popular. One of them stood out though: the boy who'd lived. Friendship with him was probably the reason she'd been singled out in the first place.

Fjeijei smirked as she realised that the redheaded girl she'd incapacitated for Raevynne was also considered a friend. Their relationship wouldn't have mattered in the long run, but it was like a good omen, and meant that they wouldn't have to put forth any energy to explain the social connection.

Fjeijei was snapped out of her thoughts by the muffled inquiry of a roommate.

"Heard thump. 'S everyone okay?"

Fjeijei spent a second wondering at this delayed response, then answered in a whisper, "Sorry, rolled out of bed."

"'kay, g' back t' slee' now."

Luckily, for all involved, the speaker was not lucid enough to look past her bed-hangings and see two, rather battered, Hermiones.

Fjeijei listened to the sleeper's breathing slow, then considered what she was going to do with her mirror-image. From her vantage point, she could see that the bed had enough room under it to hide the girl. The chances of someone looking under there were probably pretty low, especially since the scarlet hangings were long enough to brush against the floor.

As silently as possible, Fjeijei pushed Hermione under the bed. She carefully adjusted the girl's position to avoid having to deal with the effects of prolonged lack of circulation in a squished limb.

"That's that then," Fjeijei muttered to herself. She stood and, with a faint rustling of cloth, her outfit changed to mimic Hermione's nightgown perfectly.

She glared at the void that covered her bed, and whispered something vile. In response the darkness shrunk, faded, then disappeared all together.

Fjeijei didn't bother to fix the rumpled covers; she simply flipped them up and crawled under them. She didn't notice that this caused a long, thin piece of wood to roll off the bed and away over the floor, but in her current state she wouldn't have cared.

She was exhausted, and her last coherent thought was about how lovely the pillow was. Fjeijei fell into a state that cannot quite be defined as sleep, but she did dream, and when she rose she was refreshed.

Yes, she was going to change her world.


	12. In a Name

Fun Fact: Fjeijei's name once contained an unnecessary apostrophe. It got lost though, and that's probably for the best.

* * *

Harry Potter stared across the table at the girl who was one of his best friends, and not, as his subconscious was desperately trying to tell him, a complete stranger.

"So is it mugwort or gillyweed?"

"I don't know," she picked at her breakfast, separating foods by colour, "Why are you even asking me?"

"'s gillyweed," said a boy beside him while a girl several seats down insisted on it being mugwort.

The redhead sitting on Harry's other side gave his eggs a break from inspection to stare at Hermione too.

"You don't know? Hermione, you were telling us about this last night."

"Then I knew last night. I don't know today. It doesn't matter anyway. And I want you to stop calling me Hermione!"

"Why? It's your name, innit?"

"Yeah, but from now on I want everybody, at least my friends, to call me Mione."

"That doesn't even make sense!" Ron had completely forgotten his eggs, "It's not even pronounced the same: Her-my-oh-nee, Me-own?"

"You have a nice name Hermione. A bit long, but it's grown on us. Why do you want to change it now?" a confused Harry got involved.

"I just want to, okay? Don't be a jerk about it. God, I feel like I don't even know you people anymore."

Hermione threw her fork down and stormed out of the great hall, pushing a first year out of her way and leaving a trail of staring, gaping students in her wake.

"It feels like we don't know you any more either," Harry said slowly to the place where his friend had once sat.

"That was strange," stated Ron, " In fact, that redefines strange."

"How's it do that?" came from down the table.

"I don– it– it makes it stranger."

"Oh, 'kay."

"Do you think we should go after her?" Harry asked his friend.

"Do you really want to spend more time with her right now?"

"I guess you're right."

"I often am."

--xx0oo0lOvOl0oo0xx--

Fjeijei rushed to the wood line. They kept questioning her and opposing her. It wasn't right. Some brat in green had even had the nerve to sneer at her.

She found her companion sitting on a pile of leaves, rubbing a twig back and forth across her wrist. Her skin was pink, and slightly raw, but the stick had been worn smooth.

"Oh, you finally remembered you'd left me here. How thoughtful, I've only been out here all night."

"Come on," Fjeijei held out the strands of ginger hair, "I've got your pale beauty. I'll even give you what I copied from her mind, but in return you're going to have to help me. I can't seem to persuade these people, can you do enough for both of us?"

"What? Oh sure, no problem. Now give!"

Raevynne grabbed the hair, and cupped it in her hands. Her transformation was not like Fjeijei's. It was much louder, and seemed to begin from her feet and travel upwards. It was not a beautiful transformation. There were moments when the top of a limb appeared to belong to someone who was obviously not the owner of the bottom of the limb, when unaccounted for gaps appeared between varying amounts of body-mass, when digits disappeared completely only to reappear at a different height. In the end though, the illusion was practically perfect.

"I think I can work with this," Raevynne cooed as she examined her new form.

"Of course you can. Now make sure you've got the uniform right... not that it's a problem I guess, if anyone noticed you could just..."

Raevynne paid no attention to her companion, she was too busy turning her hair ebony.

"... and I wouldn't start changing your appearance just yet. Let's take this slowly. They're probably already on guard, and I really don't want to get caught."

"Relax, it's just my hair," there was a short pause, "and my nails. I'll say I dyed it. They do have dye here, right?"

"Of course, but–"

"Fjeijei," the whining recommenced.

"Hermione. Call me Hermione, and you're Ginny."

"Fine! I'm not going to do anything else. Just let me look like this okay, it's easy to explain the change."

Fjeijei sighed, and stared at Ginny's Doppelganger. Raevynne was much stronger than her in a lot of ways, but she was only really useful when she wasn't whining. The problem was that she was constantly whining. She needed someone to appear pathetic to, and Fjeijei needed someone to feel superior to. They were as close to each other as it was possible for their kind to be, but there was a reason why their native language had no word for friend.

"All right, the black is fine, just make sure they don't get suspicious... about either of us."

"Okay, I've got it already. Anyway, you said you'd got more for me?"

"Yeah, here," Fjeijei held out her hands.

Raevynne stared at them.

"Grab my hands," Fjeijei demanded, sounding less than pleased.

Raevynne did as she was told, and for a moment a blue glow radiated from their clasped hands.

"Mmph," Raevynne muttered after a second, "You could have warned me."

"I did. You weren't listening earlier."

Raevynne made another noise of discomfort as she recovered from the daze of suddenly acquiring so much information.

"Ah, so we're friends."

"Of course,"

"And my brother's your best friend... along with... ooh, he looks interesting."

For a moment, Fjeijei looked around wildly before realising that her companion had not actually seen anyone and was just contemplating the information she'd been given.

"Oh, and he rescued me from certain death my first year. We have a connection. I'm sure he'll understand the darkness in my sou–"

"No!" Fjeijei reprimanded, "The last one they sent went for him. He's off limits," _to you,_ "He'll be suspicious of any romance right now."

"Well, I guess you would know him better," Raevynne sighed, "But if it looks like he's my soul mate, I'm gonna have to go for him anyway."

"Hmph, well we should get back to the castle. I left in a bit of a state during breakfast, and no-one's seen you since yesterday."

"I guess," Raevynne started off toward Hogwarts, "Have you seen any bats yet?"

"No, but I haven't looked. There's a poetry section in the library though. I hid your girl's body there."

"I bet they don't have anything good," the plaintive wails soared through the air, "I'll write them something they'll never forget."

"Your poetry does tend to be unforgettable, yes. Now let's go. We need to get to class."

"We don't really need to. I can just make people think we went to class. We can–"

"No! Rae– Ginny, listen, there's something wrong here. I can't persuade people. I should be able to, but my influence is practically nonexistent. One of the items was lost. I've got the bracelet and the necklace, and the earrings are secure, but I can't find the ring. I don't think it's on the grounds; I would have sensed it in the castle. If we can't get it back... until we get it back we need to be careful. We need to save our energy. Don't be reckless."

"Okay, okay, 's fine. No need to flip out. I'll go to," Raevynne took the initiative to search through her newly acquired memories, "Herbology. Don't worry, I'll be fine, you'll be fine, everything will be fine."


	13. The Sway

I got a bit creeped out while writing this chapter, but I creep easily. There's an element that _I_ would definitely define as non-con, but it doesn't, and will not, go beyond kissing. There's also a bit of swearing in this chapter, but it doesn't go above and beyond, and I feel that it's justified by the character's emotional state. Also, the poem was not meant to have giant spaces between each line, but there's little I can do to oppose this site's automatic formatting. Since I've had the spare time to write recently, this chapter is a bit longer than usual; I hope you like it.

* * *

Fjeijei reached the Transfiguration classroom and fell into Hermione's seat just in time.

"Hey Mione," Ron greeted her as she sat beside him, "Do you remember what we're supposed to be doing today?"

She wondered whether he had called her Mione because Raevynne had made him think it was a good idea, or because he thought it would be easier than fighting about it. Would he call her Mione just because he didn't want to fight? No, he was too stubborn, but perhaps, if Harry or someone else had told him to just go along with it. How much of a fuss had she made this morning? She'd been so frustrated. People were supposed to do what she wanted, they were supposed to think of her the way she wanted them to. She had to find that ring. If Raevynne wasn't working her influence, or if she got distracted, or tired, or just couldn't put forth as much as they'd need–

"Hey, are you okay?" Harry asked from Ron's other side.

"What?" she snapped, then calmed herself, "What? Yeah, I'm okay."

"Really? Because Ron asked you a question, and you just sat there staring at him."

"It was kind of scary," Ron added.

"It was a dumb question."

"She's got you there," Harry laughed.

Good, if they weren't going to object to unwarranted cattiness, then Raevynne was probably doing her work.

All conversation was halted by the arrival of McGonagall, who was followed by three floating cages containing a bunch of furry little animals.

"Today you will be asked to remove a transfiguration," she said as she strode to the front of the classroom.

"These hares," the cages landed gently in front of her desk, "have been transfigured from common muggle brooms. I expect that by the end of class today, they will be brooms once again. You will be working alone. Miss Patil, mister Thomas, if you would be kind enough to distribute the hares? Thank you. Those who recall last week's lesson will find this a simple matter of putting theory into practice. In this instance, reversing the transfiguration is a matter of..."

Fjeijei stopped listening as Dean Thomas dropped a hare in front of her.

The creature was fine until she reached out toward it.

As she closed her hands around it, the hare appeared to be trying to curl in on itself, emitting a low growl.

Then, as she brought it closer to her body, it started to squirm and kick.

"What are you doing to that animal?" McGonagall demanded when the hare's shriek interrupted her lecture, "Miss Granger, if you–"

Fjeijei remembered, far too late, that in this place transfigurations were done a certain way, and that that way required wands.

She looked down at the broom in her hands. It was perfectly ordinary.

"Wow," Harry whispered, rubbing his docile hare between the ears.

"I... I didn't know that... rabbits could scream," Ron's voice shook as he put his own wand down, his hare only slightly longer than it had been before he'd started.

"I guess it didn't want to be turned back," Fjeijei ran her fingers over the broom's bristles, "and it wasn't a rabbit; it was a hare."

McGonagall rushed to their desks, "Miss Granger, that was not– You di– Tha–" She looked as though she were having some sort of internal fit, "I am amazed," her face softened slightly, and her eyes took on a barely perceptible glaze "That was an astounding display of focused wandless magic. Most witches and wizards my age wouldn't have been able to accomplish that! I am very impressed miss Granger, fifty points to Gryffindor."

"Go to–" McGonagall started moving back to the front of the classroom, "You may want to tell the Headmaster about what you can do. I think he'd be very interested," her hands gripped the edges of her desk, "he may even want you to work more with the Ord–" she squinted at the classroom full of students paying rapt attention to her, then gave her head a little shake, "You're dismissed, all of you! You've progressed very well, we'll continue this next class."

"That was wicked!" Ron cheered as they filed out of the classroom, his previous distress wiped from his mind, "You have to teach me and Harry how to do that! Right mate?"

"Yeah, you've got to. It'd be... really helpful."

"It'd be dead useful."

"When did you learn to do that?"

"Oh," Fjeijei blushed, "you know. I just read about it in some books. I've been practicing, trying to do what they said. I didn't mean to show everyone what I'd learned like that though," she heaved a dramatic sigh, "Everyone's going to think I'm a show-off now."

Instead of saying, "Well, you do sometimes come off that way, yeah" or "So showing off wasn't your intention?" or even, "Don't worry, that wasn't much worse than some of the other things you've done," Harry said, "No-one's going to think you were showing off. Everyone already knows you don't need to," and, whether he actually knew it or not, he was completely correct.

---xx0oo0lOvOl0oo0xx---

Raevynne had meant to get to class. She was a very dependable person really, once you got to know her. It was just that she was also a rebel, and sometimes those two qualities came into conflict.

The thing was that Herbology was outside, in a bright, hot greenhouse that was filled with dirt and other icky things.

In contrast Hogwarts castle was, well, cool, in every sense of the word.

So, on her way to Herbology, she'd gotten turned around, and found herself not only inside the castle, but standing in an empty corridor in front of the most majestic window she could have imagined. There was even a spot at the bottom of the window where she could, if she wanted, sit and strike a dramatic pose looking out over the grounds.

Raevynne was not one to waste opportunity.

She sat, and gazed forlornly out at a world filled with people too happy to ever comprehend her.

She sat, and she hoped someone would come by soon, because it could get pretty boring having a bottomless pit for a soul if no-one else knew of your suffering.

---xx0oo0lOvOl0oo0xx---

Draco Malfoy had not been having a good day.

He was sleep-deprived, for absolutely no reason other than his inability to actually sleep through the night, rather than staring at his bed-hangings wishing for a sleeping potion that no one would give him because, "ooh, you'll get addicted again," as though he had actually been addicted before and not just wanted to get some sleep before important tests, and games, and days that important things could happen on, which could be any day because you never really knew, did you?

Of course, the moment he'd managed to get anything resembling a minute of sleep he'd been woken by his roommates, who had then threatened to eat his breakfast if he didn't get down to the great hall in time, which was an action far beyond their station and should have resulted in them being horribly cursed, but they were gone by the time he'd worked out exactly what was happening, which only took so long because he was even more exhausted upon waking than he had been when trying to fall asleep.

To add to his wretchedness, the house elves had decided to show just how incompetent they were, and he'd been left with only one clean outfit. He'd had no choice but to wear the robes that he'd spilt pumpkin juice on the first night back, and they were, despite what everyone else said, stained. He could sense it.

When he'd gotten down to breakfast, it had been over, and the Great Hall was clear. He'd checked the time, and started to rush to class. The moving staircases however, were having none of this. They'd waited until he was halfway up, then moved to connect to entirely different floors as though their sole purpose was making sure that he'd have no chance of getting to class on time. He'd decided that with the day he was having it would probably be worse to get to class late than to miss it entirely. Undoubtedly, if he missed a class it would be the most important one of the year, but that was going to be too bad. He could get the notes off Pansy.

Draco contemplated the miserable wreck that his life had become as he turned the corner to an empty corridor.

When he saw a girl with a Gryffindor scarf sitting in front of a window, he thought his day was looking up. It was never bullying if you did it to Gryffindors; it was just putting them in their place.

He pulled out his wand. One little curse from behind, then run. Nothing too bad, maybe give her feelers, or horns, or turn her purple.

He crept forward. Who was that anyway? She looked younger than him, but not familiar. Maybe if he could see her face...

Draco moved closer. There was something about her; he had seen her before. Or maybe he hadn't. There weren't any Gryffindors wi–

Draco tripped over his own robes.

"Oh fu–" his curse was cut off when his face hit the floor.

"Why?" he whispered, rolling over, "Why me? Why always me?"

"Someone's probably got it out for you. You're probably a mere plaything of the gods."

Draco rolled further to see the girl at the window staring straight at him. From the front it was obvious, she was the littlest Weasley.

"Probably," he conceded, in a moment of weakness that was likely brought on by head-trauma. He lifted his hand to his hairline. At least he couldn't feel any blood.

He tried to stand. The world was barely spinning at all. He was fine.

"My soul is a black pit of despair," the girl said candidly.

"Okay," said Draco slowly, "I can see how that would be a problem sometimes."

"You're very pale. Sit with me."

Despite everything he held dear, Draco Malfoy found himself moving to sit beside the youngest Weasley.

The floor in front of the window was cold. Draco knew it should have felt uncomfortable, but he couldn't bring himself to object.

"Sometimes," he said, staring meaningfully into the distance, "my soul gets pretty dark too." This seemed to activate his inner monologue, which could only ask the question: _What did I just say?_

"D– do you like poetry?" the girl beside him asked, blushing.

"I love poetry." _No!_ the voice inside him screamed, _Never admit to liking poetry, especially to one of them. Oh god, what have I done. She'll tell everyone and I'll never live it down. Oh god why? Why did I say that?_

"Do you want to hear some of mine? I'm writing an epic about how suffering has consumed my soul, tarnishing and shredding it into nothing but an ebony void. It's going to be amazing; Milton would read it and weep. I can't show it to you yet though, it's not done. Listen to this though, I wrote this poem just after I realised that I hated everyone, ever."

"Why? Why do you pretend to care?

With your painted nails and your styled hair

I know your type

I've heard the hype

You're a damn prep!

With your preppy shoes and your preppy shirt

I want to show you preppy hurt!

I hate you and your conformist ways

You only care about what the TV says

You prep, I want to slap you in the face

But you'd probably sue me with a legal case

I hate you so much, I hate everyone so much

I just want to destroy the world

Like with a bomb

But with more aplomb

Then everyone would be dead

And I would be alone

And maybe finally happy, because I hate you all

The End."

"That was," _What the hell is a TV? Or a prep? Is she even listening to herself? What happened to the rhyming scheme? What an angry, angry girl, _"wow. Nothing's ever affected me like that before. You've really,"_ horrified me; got no talent; made me reconsider my position on poetry,_ "touched my heart." _What?_

"Do you want to hear more?"

_No, never again, _"Of course,"_ Oh god what's happening to me?_

"This is about my life, and how it's a hollow sham. I wrote it after I realised that I had been so emotionally broken that I was completely unlovable and would never find love."

As the girl's words filled his head, Draco found himself nodding in agreement to every line. It was terrible. He'd thought it couldn't get worse than the first poem, but his life had continued to be full of surprises. What was really perplexing was the way he kept complimenting her poetry, rather than insulting her and trying to push her through the window for the good of the magical race.

"The End," her voice rang out.

He looked at her, with tears in his eyes, "Beautiful."

She blushed. _A scarlet swath on ivory skin _a second voice inside him said. The thought that the second voice was not his bothered him for only a moment, before something pushed the thought from his mind.

"It's nothing. I just write these little things, trying to find someone, anyone who'll understand them."

"You," he reached a hand up to push an ebony strand of hair behind her ear, "are beautiful."

Her blush deepened, and his own inner voice supplied that it was hilarious. She looked like a tomato.

"You want to be a poet, don't you? Professionally published I mean. I could help you with that. My father, he has a lot of influence, everywhere really, he's very important. Anyway, he could speak to someone, maybe get you a deal. Put your work in an anthology. Would you like that?"

_Why would I ever do that? _His inner voice asked, _I don't hate the general public enough to inflict that on them. _

The second voice joined in to rebuke him, _Her poetry is astounding. It reaches depths you never knew she, or you, had. You love it, and you love her._

Her eyes widened and she leaned even closer to him, "Really? You could do that? Oh Draco, thank you. Thank you so much."

She wrapped her arms around him and brought her head to rest on his shoulder, "Is there anything you want? Do you have any dreams?"

"Yes," he chuckled, "I've always wanted to," _make my family proud; surpass my peers; get what I want. _His inner voice was getting weaker.

He chuckled again, blushing slightly, "To tell the truth, I've always wanted to bartend."

She didn't laugh; she didn't stiffen and pull away. _She understands you so well_ the other voice told him. It was not opposed.

"My dream is to bartend, in the dark."

Ginny smiled against his shoulder. "Oh darling, why not. Let's open a pub, a dark pub. No, a Goth club. You can serve drinks and I'll read poetry to the customers. It'll be just you and me against the world. It'll be perfect.

Draco Malfoy held Ginny Weasley in his arms. They were perfect together, the holes in their souls fit up and matched like the most wonderful puzzle.

"Yes," he said, "let's."

And, when they kissed, if some small, small remnant of something inside him screamed, then it was too softly to be heard.


	14. Consolidation

Wow, I never expected this story to hit the 20,000 word mark. I know that's not much for some people, but it definitely surprises me. This chapter is mainly about the Sues' affects on the Slytherins, but next chapter, I promise, we'll get back to the trio.

* * *

Pansy Parkinson was brassed right off. If Draco wanted to go gallivanting about with Gryffindors then that was his prerogative. It was just a phase, and she was going to accept it until it passed, then spend the rest of their lives mocking him for it.

He did not however have the right to transform the Slytherin common room into some sort of debauched haven for the poetically impaired. That boy could not run a pub if his life depended on it. He couldn't even tell the difference between ales and lagers, so he had no business trying to press her into ordering a martini.

At first it had been alright. She was hardly going to complain about having alcohol on school premises, and none of the teachers seemed to mind. It was getting ridiculous now though. People from other houses were lounging in the Slytherin commons, and someone had sabotaged all the lighting fixtures so you could hardly see a full metre ahead of you. Some absolute idiot had added to the chaos by conjuring a bunch of bats, and now you were lucky to get from one side of the room to the other without one of the horrid creatures diving at your face. All this, of course, was nothing compared to the steady stream of what that illiterate little Gryffindor called poetry.

Pansy sat in Herbology, professor Sprout's words passing right through her. She hadn't known that she was so angry. Until she'd come out here she'd felt alright, but something must have set her off. She was glad it had. She needed to be angry about this. It was absurd. What was Draco thinking? What was Snape thinking, allowing this to happen in the commons? Something had to be done.

She stared at her fingernails. It was as though the second she entered a greenhouse they summoned all the dirt they could fit under them.

No. No, she was angry. Draco was more important than her fingernails. She had to do something... she had to...

Alihotsy plants had really green leaves. She'd never really noticed before. They were so bright.

Pansy shook her head. Something weird was definitely going on. Something had to be done, and she was going to do it.

"But not alone," she muttered to herself.

"Hmm?" Blaise said from several seats away, "did you say something?"

"Oh, no. Wait, yes. Yes, what are you doing after class?"

Millicent Bulstrode turned around in her seat, "Could you two please wait until after class to make dates? I'm trying to learn, and you're really quite loud."

"If we were really quite loud," Blaise mocked her, "then Sprout would be saying something. See how she's not paying attention?" he looked around, then scoffed, "No-one's paying attention. Why did I even come to class? We're not actually doing anything here."

Millicent deflated, "I don't think Sprout's really trying today, to tell the truth. I don't blame her, hardly anyone showed up."

Pansy had been keeping a cautious eye on the professor, but at this she looked around, "You're right. We're the only Slytherins here. Where is everyone?"

"Common room. Listening to that Gryffindor and drinking," Blaise supplied.

"Oh, yeah, maybe we should go do that..." Millicent's brow creased, then she said, quite matter of factly, "but I'd rather not, really."

"That's it exactly!" Pansy stated loudly, then looked wide-eyed at professor Sprout. As the professor hadn't noticed her outburst, she continued, "The common room's become a travesty, and no-one cares."

"I care," Blaise assured her, though his heart wasn't in it.

"No, you don't!" Pansy insisted, "I don't even care and I'm horrified."

"You don't care... yet you're horrified?" Millicent asked.

"It's terrible in there, and I know it's terrible, but I also know that if I go back in I'm not going to do anything about it. I'll just buy a drink and listen to that Weasley girl."

"I think I know what you mean," Millicent conceded with a sigh, "Things have gotten a bit weird haven't they?"

"Listen, I think we should all talk about this, but I don't want to do it here. Do you want to go out by the lake after class and–"

"We don't need to wait for class to end," Blaise stood, "I've been skipping out of classes halfway through for a while now. No-one seems to mind, not even McGonagall."

"McGonagall doesn't mind?" Millicent asked, starting to slide her books back into her satchel, "I guess something really is wrong."

"I wouldn't be going anywhere with you two if I didn't think there was something to be worried about," Blaise said, heading to the greenhouse door without any hint of subtlety.

"We appreciate the time spent with you too Zabini," Pansy followed him out the door, making no effort to hold it open for Millicent behind her.

"The ground had best not be soggy," he muttered as they closed in on the lake.

"It's fine," Millicent stated, sitting quickly.

They sat in a rough approximation of a triangle, though Blaise took several seconds to spread his robes around him, making sure that none of his skin would touch any dirt.

"I'm worried about what's going on in our common room," Pansy said when everyone was settled, "and I'm really worried about Draco."

"Malfoy **is** what's going on in the common room," Millicent declared, "He's the one that let the Gryffindor in. Everything went badly after that."

"He's developed some sort of... perverse... fascination for her," Pansy explained.

"Do you perhaps mean love?" Blaise laughed, "Have you heard of this emotion?"

"That's not love," Pansy snapped, "What he feels for her has nothing in common with love. Not real love at least."

"Hmm," Blaise squinted at her, smiling slightly, "A love potion then. It has to have been a love potion."

"I don't know. I think maybe Malfoy's always had this in him," Millicent played with a loose thread on her sleeve.

"If you have ever considered yourself his friend, you will take that back right now!" Pansy snarled.

"I don't consider him my friend. Malfoy's a prat. He called me fat."

"You are fat."

"Shut up! You're ugly."

"Hag."

"Pug."

"Girls, girls," Blaise's voice dripped with condescension, "I'm sure he'd be very happy that you're fighting over him, but really, don't we have more important things to discuss than Malfoy?"

"Like what?" Pansy turned to him sharply.

"What do you think Crabbe and Goyle are doing right now?"

"Getting pissed no doubt."

"Correct, but not entirely."

"Well then what else are they doing?"

"Writing poetry."

"What?" Millicent interrupted, voice void of emotion, "You must be joking."

"I am not. I wish I were, but no. That kid who... she used to be a ginger... is that her name? Ginger? Anyway she–"

"Her name's not Ginger," Pansy cut in, "It's Gin... er, Gin..."

"Ger?" Millicent supplied sweetly.

"No! it– oh fine, it doesn't matter. What did she do?"

"I'm afraid she's seduced poor Vince and Greg away from our dear Draco."

"No," said Millicent with a look of utmost revulsion, "Not even she would sink that low. I– oh, I think I'm going to be ill."

"She's found uses for them that not even Draco thought of."

Millicent's look of horror became more pronounced.

"Oh my lord."

"Oh come off it Millicent," Pansy interjected, "you are such a pervert. That's not what he meant at all. Is it Blaise?" She turned to him, head slightly cocked.

"I simply meant that she has swept up their devotion. If miss Bulstrode interpreted that as something... obscene," he said the word with great joy, "then I can hardly be held accountable for what goes on in her square little head. Can I?"

"Umph," Millicent groaned, reaching out to shove at Blaise and blushing more than a little, "if your mind went half the places mine did... well, I guess you'd be quite a bit more intelligent than you are now, wouldn't you?"

"Don't touch me Milli," the boy said, knocking her hand away.

"Don't touch me peasant," she mimicked, "Believe it or not, I don't have cooties. Touches from girls are okay."

"You hardly count as a–"

"That is enough," Pansy's voice rose, "We have more important things to talk about." The last thing she needed was for Blaise to offend Millicent so much that she hit him, or said something back, because both of those scenarios ended with someone storming off in a huff, and she had neither the time nor the inclination to play social charades.

"What, exactly, is the relation between Ginger and the boys?"

Blaise opened his mouth, with a look on his face that promised an obscene answer, but his gaze fell upon Pansy's warning glare, and he rethought his response, "She's entranced them. They've spent the past few days down in the common room, drinking and listening to her. They're not coming to bed at night, and they're certainly not going to classes. It's really weird. None of the teachers seem to notice. I didn't even notice until you brought me out here," he frowned, "in fact, if you hadn't been so insistent, I was going to go back in and listen to some of her poetry myself. It's been hard to tear myself away from the common room. It's not even that nice down there... not really."

"No," said Millicent, "It's terrible now. There are drunk people everywhere, and that girl's poetry is... it's really bad."

The last statement was said with more emotion than any of them had heard in a very long time.

Pansy found herself nodding in agreement as Blaise said, "Oh yeah."

"I don't know though," Millicent leaned back, digging the heels of her palms into the earth, "I know it's bad when I think about it now, but when you hear it, it seems... deep. I don't know, it's like... it's like there's this little voice inside of you telling you how wonderful it is and how you need to hear more, and the voice... it just keeps getting more persistent the more you resist, until you just give in and everything feels... okay. It feels right... but not, no, it doesn't feel right, that's the wrong word... it's..."

"I know what you mean," Pansy said.

"We know what you mean," Blaise corrected.

"It's weird. I guess if we're all feeling like that then everyone must be feeling like that."

"Exactly, that's why we need to do something," Pansy leant forward.

"We don't need to do anything," Blaise threw his hands up in the air, "Ginger's a Gryffindor, she's the one causing all this trouble, let the Gryffindors deal with it!"

"Yeah? When?" Millicent demanded, "In case you haven't noticed, it's our common room she's infested, and I'm certain that as long as Malfoy's there she's not going to move. The Gryffindors aren't doing anything. They're probably glad to be rid of her."

"Do they even know she's there?" Blaise asked, "I mean, what if they all think she's lost, and Potter's crying himself to sleep at night because his girlfriend isn't there to tuck him in?"

"Oh come on," Pansy said, then smiled, "Everyone knows he's with the frizz-head."

"The mudblood?" Blaise laughed, "No, she's doing the ginger."

"Actually," Pansy lowered her voice conspiratorially, "she's doing both of them."

"You are full of it," Millicent stated, though she was smiling too.

"And Longbottom," Pansy grinned, "at the same time."

"And the squid, right?" Millicent snickered.

"The squid is always in on it," Pansy straightened, "but, aside from the Gryffindor love quadrangle, we really need to do something about this. It's troublesome, and I miss being able to sit in the common room, and I miss Draco."

"I honestly think we should tell Potter," Blaise said.

"People can't keep running to Potter every time something a little strange happens," Millicent fussed, "If we clear this up ourselves we might even be able to get enough house points to win the cup this year."

"No way," said Pansy the jaded, "Even if we cleared this up single-handedly they'd get it for, I don't know, the taming of the squid. House cup is rigged."

"Fine then," said Millicent, "let's run squealing to Potter. He'll save us all."

"I think you mean that he'll get into the dangerous and possibly fatal situation that this is no doubt going to lead to," Blaise said bluntly.

"Fatal how? Is Ginger going to recite poetry at him till his brain liquefies and runs out his ears?"

"Maybe," Blaise shrugged, "I think I heard my mum talking about a curse that does that."

"Wouldn't it run out your nose before your ears?" Pansy asked, "and anyways, she probably wouldn't need to. Some of the things Draco serves have got to be poisonous."

"Aww, did my little flower get a hangover?"

"Shut up Zabini. We're decided then. Telling Potter and hoping for the best?"

"I wouldn't say we leave it at that. More like telling Potter and following at a safe distance."

"I'm alright with that," Millicent conceded, "When should we do it though?"

"Now's as good a time as any," Pansy got to her feet, "The sooner we say something the sooner we can expect to have something done about it."

"What? You want to wander around the castle and hope we bump into them? What if they're already on some stupid mission? I don't want to spend my day wandering around like some lost puppy," despite his protests, Blaise got to his feet, and it may have been truly accidental that his foot swung out and hit Millicent's arm.

"Watch it!" said Millicent, rubbing the place where he'd kicked her, "I think you're right, but, uh, look. I want to do something before we go back to the castle. It was kind of hard to get out here and I think that maybe when we go back we might... that little voice might come back and tell us we're being silly or something. We need to make sure that we're actually going to tell Potter," Millicent rose slowly and drew out her wand, rolling it between her fingers.

"We've agreed, haven't we?" Blaise scoffed, "No-one's going to bunk it up."

"She's right," Pansy conceded, "we could go back in and then something would happen. We'd feel foolish, and decide that telling Potter was stupid after all."

"Nothing will happen."

"It will!" Millicent insisted, "At least it could, and do you really want to take that chance?"

Blaise rolled his eyes, "well what do you suggest we do? A clear-thinking charm?"

"That wouldn't go amiss," Pansy spoke contemplatively, "but we should do something else too, maybe making some sort of promise..."

"I am not making an unbreakable vow over this," Blaise crossed his arms, "Think of something else."

"That would be extreme," Millicent said, "but we could just come to an ordinary agreement. Say... if someone backs out of telling Potter then they have to take off their robes and run around the Great Hall tomorrow morning."

"Pfft!" Blaise laughed, "Then you'll spend all your time trying to get me to back out."

"No," said Pansy and Millicent in unison.

"The problem with that is," Pansy continued, "We'd all back out together, and no-one would hold the others to it. It's a good idea; it just needs to be tweaked. Change it to: the first person to mention backing out has to take their robes off and run around the Great Hall during breakfast tomorrow morning. That way we can all think it, but no-one can do anything about it."

"That works," agreed Millicent, starting off toward the castle, "Now hurry. I'd rather find them before curfew so we don't have to spend all night looking for them because we can't give up."

"If we have to spend a whole night looking for those idiots... I will never forgive either of you," Blaise muttered as he and Pansy approached the castle, "and I will have vengeance."

Pansy just snickered at him, and wondered when he'd find out that his robes were extremely good at picking up the dirt he'd been sitting on.


	15. Brawl

Well, here's the fifteenth chapter. I think that what I was trying to show here came through clearly, though I have to admit, I doubt I'm meant to write romance. I hope you like it.

* * *

Ron had never really appreciated the ambience of the library before.

It was quiet, calming. One could feel secure in a library, happy.

Ron was happy. He was happy a lot these days. This was because he was spending a lot of time with his best friends these days, in the library.

Ron was spending a lot of time the library with Harry, and, more importantly, he was spending a lot of time in the library with Hermione.

That was how life was. Those things were definite, facts. He was most certainly spending a lot of time with Harry and... with Hermione. That was very important. He was spending time with Hermione.

Hermione had become very pretty. No. Hermione had always been very pretty. She certainly hadn't changed her looks in any way. How could anyone be foolish enough to think that? Hermione had always been very pretty, but he was only now beginning to notice.

He stared across the library table at Hermione. She was poring over an old tome, learning more about wandless magic so that she could teach him and Harry more. She was so good, so beautiful. Her hair fell over her shoulder in graceful waves. He found himself entranced, watching her graceful hand come up to push an errant strand behind her ear.

As though she felt his stare on her, Hermione looked up. She met his eyes and blushed slightly, looking back down at her book demurely.

He knew he'd been caught, but he still couldn't tear his gaze away from her. She was a feast for his eyes, the food and drink of his soul.

She looked into the distance for a moment, blushing and biting her lip before lowering her eyes to the page again.

She rolled her quill between her fingers as she read, unconsciously tracing her lips with the feather's end.

Oh, to be the quill between those fingers.

She looked up again, as though startled, her gaze falling...

Her gaze falling beside Ron. It took some effort to switch his attention from Hermione to where she was looking, but when he did, Ron's blood ran cold.

Hermione's attention was focussed on Ron's other best friend, Harry Potter.

Harry was staring at Hermione with a look of utmost adoration on his face, and, though she blushed prettily again, she made no effort to avoid his gaze.

Ron ground his teeth. What sort of betrayal was this? How could Harry do this to him? Obviously Harry was in love with Hermione – who wouldn't be – but Hermione belonged to Ron. She belonged with Ron. How could Harry pant after her like this? He was trying to obstruct their love, to steal her away. There weren't any words to describe the sort of monster Harry was.

Ron snarled. There was only one way to solve this. With a war-cry ripping from the depths of his throat, he flung himself bodily at his former friend.

---xx0oo0lOvOl0oo0xx---

Madam Pince had spent most of her life appreciating the ambience of the library.

It was strict, ordered, with every book in its proper place. She could respect that.

Madam Pince was suspicious. She was a generally suspicious woman, but she was particularly suspicious at the moment.

This was because her library was filled with students, students of the particularly male variety. Half of them didn't even have books. They were staring at a table in the centre of the library where three students were sitting. Madam Pince was keeping her eye on these students; some sort of mischief was no doubt underway.

Two boys and a girl... was that miss Granger and her friends? Surely she would be among the last to cause trouble in the library... but if those boys had worked their irresponsible influence on her... who knew what could happen?

Pince pursed her lips, Granger was obviously aware of the attention she was receiving, and she didn't look too comfortable. She considered interrupting the study session; she wasn't going to let a bunch of boys get away with harassment in her library.

Deciding to do something, madam Pince got to her feet.

She then stood still, stunned with shock and horror, as one of the boys at the central table leapt out of his seat and tackled the other.

A rousing shout rippled throughout the room, combined with cries of, "She's mine you mmph–" and "I saw the way you were looking at haargh–" as others joined the fight.

Madam Pince's eyes widened in terror as she saw what was going to happen.

She whipped out her wand with speed that would put a master duelist to shame. Even so, her stunning spell was too slow. She was forced to watch impotently as a Ravenclaw wrestled a Hufflepuff against a bookcase piled with ancient texts.

The bookcases had once been immobilised with sticking charms, but they hadn't been renewed for years. Madam Pince sent up a silent plea to anything that would listen if only the shelves would stay upright. Her prayer went unanswered.

With a cry that had turned from rage to surprise, the boys knocked the bookcase over, and set off a chain reaction.

The entire section of magical zoology was decimated in seconds that felt, to the horrified Pince, like an eternity. History was next to go, a series of thumps and fluttering pages that ended, finally, with one shelf barely moving, the sticking charm holding masterfully, and now supporting not only the weight of one bookcase, but of all those that were leaning on it.

This would have been more comfort if another fighting trio hadn't slammed into Arcane Languages as a Slytherin was thrown into Muggle and Magical Mythologies. The bookcases went down without resistance.

Seeing her sanctuary collapse around her, madam Pince did two things.

First, she screamed loudly enough to shock a banshee, and second, she sent off a volley of stupefying charms that hit every other person in the room.

Having done this, she gave a little laugh, and fell to her knees.

She was still laughing, though slightly more hysterically, when Hermione crawled out from under a table and pushed her way through the piles of paralyzed bodies.

"That was very good," said Hermione sweetly, "I've never seen someone stun so many people at one time."

Then, noticing that her compliment had gone unnoticed, Hermione cleared her throat, "Are you all right?"

"Yes," madam Pince's giggles slowed, "Yes I'm fine. I think, perhaps, that someone should go get Popp– get madam Pomfrey. There's been a bit of an incident here, you see."

"I... will go do that," Hermione frowned at the bodies at her feet, "I didn't expect anything like that to happen."

Hermione swept gracefully out of the library, looking back only once, and laughing softly as she went.


	16. Recuperation

This one's a short chapter even by my standards. It works though. It's small, but it's filled with pseudo-drama.

* * *

Harry woke to see the sanitary white walls of the infirmary. He was used to that by now.

He was slightly less used to the soft pressure of someone's hand on his own.

"Hey," he said softly, turning to the young woman at his bedside, "Mione, why are you here? What happened?"

"Oh Harry, it was terrible!" she cried, "We were just sitting there, studying, when Ron leapt at you. I don't know why. Someone must have cursed him. Imperio? But could someone get away with that at school? I didn't see anyone hit him with anything but..." Hermione blushed, staring at their clasped hands, "I was a bit distracted."

Harry blushed as well, his gaze following hers.

"I, oh Harry," her voice rose with distress, and Harry couldn't help but stare at her trembling lips, "Ron was, Ron was trying to bite out your throat! It was the most horrid thing I've ever seen. He kept screaming, and biting, and yelling about how you were a traitor and," she gasped, her lips forming a perfect circle, "and then other people started to join in. Dean was there, and Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Neville. Oh, Neville, he picked up and threw a Slytherin boy. I'd never seen him do anything like that!"

"What?" demanded Harry, "Really?"

"Yes, it was amazing."

Harry felt something tighten in his chest. Hermione thought Neville was amazing. That was wrong. She wasn't supposed to think that anyone other than Harry was amazing. Neville, if he didn't back off, was going to find that Harry was not the sort of man to cross.

"But," Hermione's eyes misted, "he wasn't as amazing as you. Oh Harry, I was so worried. I thought... I thought... I thought you were going to die!"

She dove at him, hugging him tightly, "I don't think I could live without you," she murmured against his chest, "I don't think I'd want to."

"Hush," he comforted her, returning her hug, "I'll never leave you. I couldn't. I," he inhaled, girding himself for the declaration as Hermione pushed herself up to look him in the eye, "I love you."

Hermione smiled slowly, almost smugly.

"I know."

Slowly, she lowered her head again, bringing their lips together for their first, delectable kiss.

---xx0oo0lOvOl0oo0xx---

Ron, who had woken three beds down, noted the proceedings with silent rage. He had been played for a fool. By his best friends no less.

He felt hot tears fill his eyes, but did not let them fall. He would have followed Harry anywhere, done anything for him, but not this. Ronald Weasley would not just let him have Hermione. There were some things a man couldn't stand for; seeing his beloved with another man was one of them. He'd show them. He'd make them see what they'd done, what their betrayal had wrought. He'd make Hermione see, show her that he was the only one for her, no matter what he had to do.

Beneath the white infirmary sheets, Ron's hands clenched into fists. He would have her. _No __matter__ what_.


	17. Deposition

It may be a while before I have a chance to update again. My teachers are doing that thing where they weed out the weak by seeing who gets crushed under the weight of their schoolwork. Hopefully I won't be gone too long, but flunking out to write fanfiction is probably not a good idea. So there you have it. I hope this chapter pleases.

* * *

"This is ridiculous," Blaise muttered, "We've been wandering around forever and my feet are in agony. They're probably not even in the castle."

"Follow that train of thought any further," Millicent warned him, "and your inner exhibitionist will really be showing."

Blaise shut up.

"I thought this would be easier," Pansy sighed, "I mean, they're always in the library, at least Granger is."

"Except for when it's closed, apparently," Millicent noted.

"I don't know," Blaise slowed his pace, "We didn't actually look inside."

"We couldn't actually look inside," Millicent chided, "Dumbledore and all the staff were milling around. Did you not notice?"

"Of course I noticed," Blaise snapped, "I'm not blind and deaf. I just–" he coughed, "I think we should have said something to Dumbledore."

"About the common room?" Pansy asked.

"Obviously."

"No," Pansy shook her head, "It wouldn't have done any good. He's useless anyway."

"Do you think," Millicent asked reluctantly, "that Potter and his gang were involved in whatever happened there."

"In the library?"

"Yes."

"Yes. Yes they probably were."

"So that means what exactly?" Blaise demanded, "That we should look in the infirmary? I think I heard Flitwick say that someone got hurt."

"In the library?" Pansy asked.

"Yes, in the library. What is your problem Parkinson?"

"Directionally disabled," Millicent murmured as Pansy snapped around.

"You! You are my problem. You with your slow walking and your constant complaints and your head so far up your own arse that you–"

Pansy gasped and leaned against the wall, "I'm sorry," she said through clenched teeth, "you feel this right? Tense? I just want to go back to the common room. I need to hear it. I need to go back and hear her poetry. I need to–" she inhaled slowly, "We need to find Potter and friends, right away. I'll go mad if I don't get one of Draco's drinks soon."

"Yeah," said Millicent as Blaise scowled.

"My head," he sniffed, "is perfectly placed. Which is more than can be said for any part of you."

"To the infirmary then?" Millicent increased her pace, expecting the others to follow her, "Before we end up sending each other there."

---xx0oo0lOvOl0oo0xx---

Ron was almost pleased when the three Slytherins entered the infirmary.

He wasn't really glad to see them in particular. He didn't like them. In fact, he very much disliked them. But their arrival was a distraction, and when he thought about them he could avoid his other thoughts. His other thoughts were dark, and wrong, and completely unlike him. Except that they were like him, obviously, or he wouldn't be thinking them. They made sense, when he really thought about them, when he just relaxed and let them pour into his mind. They were right. It was the only way. It would prove to her how much he loved her, how much she needed him. It was right; she would **have** to see that, even if–

"Weasley! Do you know where your sister is?"

His attention snapped to the three Slytherins making a beeline toward him, "How should I? I'm not her keeper."

"Well someone should be," Blaise stated, "You people belong in a–"

Millicent, who had started rolling her eyes as soon as Blaise had opened his mouth, took this opportunity to punch him in the gut, "We don't need to get into this right now."

No-one objected as Blaise doubled over.

Hermione's laughter sailed over to them, "He deserved that, though I would have preferred to do it myself."

Millicent shook her head sharply, eyes that had been glossed over focusing once again.

"I'm so sorry!"

Millicent had meant to apologise to Blaise, but found her words directed at Hermione, "This really isn't like me. I should... I feel ill, I should... can't back out now, umm."

Pansy grabbed Millicent's arm, digging her fingers deeply into the flesh. Millicent made no move to shake her off.

"We didn't do a clear-thinking charm," Pansy said in what was meant to be a whisper, but carried over the room, "We should have. We have to tell them something, oh what is it... I want to get back to the common room now. Have to tell them first."

"You idiots," spat Blaise, still clutching his stomach. He'd bit the inside of his cheek when Millicent had hit him. The pain focussed his mind.

"You, Potter. Your ginger girlfriend has set up house in our common room. Get her out. She's stinking up the place."

"What?" The cold, stony, almost-question came from Hermione.

She released Harry's hand and stood.

"She what?"

"She," Blaise could taste blood, "Is defiling our common room. She doesn't belong there. We don't want her there."

"Not welcome!" Pansy's addition was shrill; Millicent was staring at her own fist as though it had betrayed her.

"Make her leave!" Blaise stared into Hermione's eyes for a fraction of a second, then switched his stare to Harry.

"Make. Her. Leave." He said it slowly, with a hint of desperation that he would find too shameful to remember later.

"I'll go speak to her," Hermione said, turning away from Blaise and pushing the rising Harry back into bed. "You're ill, let me handle this. I'm her friend."

She kissed him once again, softly whispering, "relax" against his lips, then turned, her eyes void of anything, to look at Blaise for a moment, then swept, swiftly, with sylvan footsteps, out of the infirmary.

There was a collective sigh as the infirmary door shut behind her. Many of the room's occupants would have said it was a sigh of longing, but many of the room's occupants were not the type to examine their emotions very closely.

"I'm glad that's over," Pansy said, feeling strangely stunned, "We need to get back."

"Yes, I, Oh. Blaise, I am so sorry, I really didn't–," Millicent brushed off Pansy's hand, "Please, let me help you get back to the common room. I am so sorry."

Blaise backed away from her advances, sitting on a bed that he didn't notice was occupied by Ron, "No. Don't touch me."

He made sure to sit straight, "I'm fine. You hit like a girl. A girl made of bricks."

Millicent blushed, but didn't take offense to his comment.

"I'm so sorry, I–"

"Don't," Blaise held a hand up, "I don't think it was really your fault," he glared at her, "Though I probably should. I won't take any revenge."

"Oh, thank you," she gave something that may have been a sigh, or may have been a small chuckle, "I know I'd live in fear without your assurance."

"As well you should," Blaise dusted off his robe and stood.

"Come on," he said, heading over to where Pansy was loitering, "Let's get back to the common room."

"Yeah," Pansy smiled viciously, "I really want to see what's going to happen down there."

Before leaving, Millicent turned to Harry, "If your friend doesn't get your other friend out of our room, I am going to hold you responsible, and I'm going to make sure the rest of Slytherin house holds you responsible too. You will not enjoy that."

"If Hermione can't help Ginny – and she can – then I'll do it myself. If there are any problems, you and your friends can come back and get me yourselves."

"We're not friends," three pairs of voices rang out, but they held no malice.

"Slytherins," Harry said as he watched them leave, then turned to Ron, shaking his head in confusion.

"They're mad mate," it was the most lucid thought Ron had had in a while, before he remembered that he was speaking to his most loathed enemy, and turned away with a yawn.

"Yeah," said Harry, completely misinterpreting Ron's body language, "I'm pretty tired too."

He rolled on to his side, and, just as Hermione had told him to, he relaxed. As long as everyone stayed calm, everything would turn out alright.


End file.
